Warm Nights & Firelight
by Oubliette14
Summary: When in the wake of a messy breakup Emma makes the impulsive decision to return home to her parent's ranch in the Rockies, she certainly doesn't expect to find a strange Irish guy living in what was once her apartment over the garage, and she definitely doesn't imagine that the home she couldn't wait to be rid of five long years ago would be the very place her heart begins to heal.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So I've started another Multi-Chapter fic, because apparently I'm insane and my brain is not simply content to work on just one story at a time. It's a Modern-day AU this time around. Fair warning; this story will earn its M-rating _eventually_, and I do mean eventually. ;)

As always, reviews, comments, thoughts, and ideas are welcome and greatly appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to read, and I sincerely hope you enjoy!

* * *

Thunder rumbles violently through the heavens and Emma can feel its vibration shaking its way along the gravel road, past wet rubber, up through the metal frame of the car and into her bones. Lightning flashes again in the distance and she bumps the dial, nudging her windshield wipers up to max as the rain falls harder, a murky deluge obscuring her view.

She's been driving for hours with only brief pit-stops for gas and greasy takeout, plying herself with caffeine to stay alert. Slouching in her seat Emma groans, rotating stiff shoulders and shifting her weight between her seat bones as she searches the dark stormy road for the driveway she knows is here somewhere, out in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

Seeing the sign moments too late, she rolls right past it, breaks locking up as the car skids to a stop on the muddied road. Shifting into reverse, she rolls the car backwards until the large wooden placard comes into view, lit only by her headlights, the floodlights beneath it darkened and useless. _Storybrooke Ranch_.

It's long past midnight (the faded numbers on the dash read 1:39) when she finally cranks the wheel and steers her trusty yellow bug down the long winding driveway to her home. She scoffs at the thought. _Home_. She's not sure she's even allowed to call it that any more. After all she only visits once, maybe twice a year (for a belated Christmas and occasionally in the summer if her parents are persistent enough with their persuasion).

She's spent the last five years living in a distant city (far away from everything she grew up with), five long years that were supposed to have her well on her way to a happy and successful life. All that time and effort and what does she have to show for it?

Big, fat, fucking _nothing_.

Well, that's not entirely true; she's got a business degree. Not that she has any idea what to do with it. Turns out this whole being an adult business is a lot harder than she thought it would be.

Oh and she has a broken heart. Courtesy of Neal _fucking_ Cassidy: high school sweetheart, supposed love of her life. The man she's spent the last seven years loving, only to discover that he's been screwing another woman behind her back for the past six weeks. The thought makes her sick and bile rises in her throat even as tears prick at her lids and blood rushes through her veins, white hot with fury.

And it couldn't have come at a worse time, because just this morning when she walked into work (a meaningless gig as a file clerk/secretary/doormat, but hey, something's gotta pay the bills) her boss informed her that the company had gone bankrupt. No heads up, no severance package, not even her last pay cheque. Just a perfunctory apology and a shrug of his shoulders as he told her she may as well pack up her belongings.

So she had, and three short minutes later she was walking out the door, tossing the wobbly box onto the passenger seat before heading back to their apartment, hoping to catch Neal before he left for work. And catch him she did: buck naked in _their_ bed with Tamara, their fucking neighbour from across the hall.

She can't even remember what was said, the words that passed between them, all she remembers is screaming at him as she hastily shoved her belongings in her suitcase, grabbing anything she deemed important and thinking to fucking hell with all the rest.

Five years and most of her possessions fit easily into one large bag, packed in the span of minutes. It's pathetic and it should make her sad that she can pack up and leave with such efficient ease, but she's mostly just glad. Glad that she didn't have to spend one more second listening to his feeble excuses, his laughable apology, because what he did, it's not something you can _ever_ apologize for.

So she had plucked the key from the chain, dropped it to the floor, and slammed the door in his face as she left.

It was an impromptu decision, to make the long drive back to her parents, but where else could she go? Any friend she had in this city had started out a friend of Neal's first and she wanted to get far away from anything that was even remotely associated with him.

So 15 long hours, and just over 1000 miles later, she's home. She thought about calling her parents and letting them know she was on her way, but her cell died an hour into the drive and she decided to leave it that way, not wanting to deal with missed calls and texts from Neal. She'll talk to her parents in the morning. It's incredibly late now and she's exhausted from emotional upheaval and driving all goddamn day and she has no desire whatsoever to discuss feelings and heartbreak and failure.

The power at the ranch is out, not all that surprising with the violence of the late May thunderstorm raging strong into the night. There's a fork in the driveway and she takes the path that curves left, throwing the car into park when she brings it to a stop by the garage next to the barn. There's a small apartment above it, one that she's stayed in during each rare visit home (always alone, because of course Neal had never wanted to come with her, always bitching about hating the country and leaving it for a reason).

Killing the engine, she leaves her bag in the trunk and makes a quick dash to the porch, winding up half soaked in the mere feet from shelter to shelter. She breathes a sigh of relief when the knob turns and the door swings open, glad that people rarely ever lock their doors out here. There's no one around for miles and there is more concern for wildlife making its way indoors than burglars.

Thunder rumbles again, and she climbs the stairs that lead up to the apartment, a hand on each wall to guide her steps in the darkness. When she reaches the landing at the top, she fiddles with the door knob and kicks at the bottom with her heel. The door sticks, always has, and opening it is an exercise in precision. Finally she leans heavily against the wood, throwing her weight into it.

She's caught completely unaware when the door swings open easily and she stumbles loudly into the room, tripping over her own feet and landing unsettled but upright with a heavy crash against the wall. A picture swings precariously on its nail and falls to the ground before she can reach for it, glass shattering.

"Goddamnit!" she curses. Can things just go her way for one fucking second? It's a miracle she made it here without crashing her car. It seems her life is just one disaster after another today.

"Buggering hell!" a voice sounds in the dark, sleepy and irritated and decidedly male.

Emma freezes, grabbing for something, anything on the entry table to defend herself against the unknown foe. She looks around but the room is dark and she can't see a damn thing, much less who it was that spoke.

She hears rustling, another curse, then the strike of a match, sulfur scraping against phosphorus, and suddenly the room is illuminated by the soft glow of firelight streaming from a lantern.

A man holds it up, clearly confused, blinking the sleep from his blue eyes. He's dressed in a thin white t-shirt with flannel slung low on his hips. His hair is a mess, sticking up at all angles, stubbled jaw clenching in irritation. She woke him up, that much is clear, but her exhausted mind can't seem to put together anything more concrete than that.

"Who the hell are you?" Emma asks, oblivious to the glass crunching beneath her heels.

"I could bloody well ask you the same question, lass," he retorts, and she notices that he as an accent. British? No, not quite. Maybe Irish?

"I live here," she supplies after a second when she realises that he's waiting for a reply.

He raises an eyebrow and a slow smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"Well then lass, I'm afraid we've got a problem," he steps into heavy work boots and shifts forward, stopping a couple feet from her, "you see I also happen to live here."

"Who are you?" she asks again, seriously confused.

"Who are you?" he parrots, repeating her question with an infuriating grin.

"What are you, five?" she jeers, crossing her arms, "I asked you first."

_Yes, Emma, because that's so much more mature_.

He switches the lantern to his left hand and offers his right.

"Killian Jones; the hired help, stable hand, groundskeeper, etcetera," he offers by way of explanation.

Emma stares at his hand for a long moment, but doesn't take it. If he's offended by her utter lack of social skills it doesn't seem to show. If anything, he looks amused.

Her parents hired someone to work the ranch. And he's living in the apartment. He's supposed to be here and she's just barged in on him in the middle of the night, disrupting his sleep. The facts slowly permeate the fog surrounding her brain and she feels heat rise to her cheeks as embarrassment pounds in her ears. She _really_ should have called ahead.

"Uh, I'm Emma Nolan, my parents, they own the property."

"How wonderful to meet you Emma, even if the circumstance is less than ideal." He looks down at her hand and chuckles, eyebrow lifting. "A hoof pick? Had I been an intruder, was that to be your weapon of choice for self-defence?"

Looking down at the tool in her hand, Emma shakes her head, searching for a witty response and finding none. _God she really needs to sleep_. Shaking herself from her stupor, she places the hoof pick back on the table.

"Killian was it?"

He nods.

"Sorry for barging in here and waking you, it's uh, been a long day..." she offers lamely. "I'll get out of here and let you get back to bed. I should probably go let my parents know I'm home."

Turning to leave, she's halted by a soft pressure on her arm.

"Here," Killian offers her an umbrella and the lantern with a kind smile. "And it's quite all right, love. I imagine there are worse ways to be plucked from slumber."

She gives him what she hopes is a gracious smile in return.

"Thanks for the umbrella. I guess I'll see you tomorrow, or today rather. Later I guess."

His features shift, his grin once again amused and she turns, leaving before she says something that makes her look like even more of a fool. Her words are not entirely under her control right now and she yawns as she marches down the stairs and out onto the porch.

With the umbrella open to shield her from the worst of the downpour she heads across muddied driveway, cursing her choice of footwear as she makes her way to her parent's house.

She has a key, but doesn't need it. The door to the house is unlocked as well and she slips inside, toeing off her soiled pumps and hanging the umbrella in the mudroom.

The kitchen is lit with dull white light and Emma finds her father sitting at the table, flashlight pointed upwards, casting a bright halo of light against the ceiling.

"You don't call, you don't write," her father teases with a smile and she's confused because he doesn't seem at all surprised to see her.

He stands and Emma sits the lantern on the table, wrapping her arms around his waist as he returns the hug and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

"Sorry Dad," she says, "what are you still doing up?"

"Neal called..." he admits slowly, tone laced with quiet anger.

"Son of a bitch! He can go fucking rot in hell." The nerve! She can't believe he called here.

She has no idea how much of the situation her father knows, but if his voice is anything to go by, he knows enough. She really doesn't want to have this conversation right now. Actually, she'd prefer to never have it. Wiping the last five years from existence would be preferable.

David chuckles and hugs her tighter. "I told him as much, though not in such colourful language."

Over the years her father had come to more or less accept her inclination toward cursing like a sailor, agreeing that it comes with the territory of growing up on a ranch. You don't work with horses day in and day out for 18 years without developing a less than savoury vocabulary.

He doesn't press for further information (perhaps because he realizes that she's miles past exhausted, but more likely because he just doesn't want all the gory details, dads are like that) and she breathes a sigh of relief.

"I guess Mom is asleep?" Emma asks.

"Yeah, school year isn't over yet, she's still got class to teach for a few more weeks."

Emma yawns then, loudly, her jaw cracking. She's going to have to sleep in the spare room; the apartment is obviously spoken for, and her childhood bedroom was converted into an office/craft room for her mother years ago.

"I guess I'll take the guest room. I may have accidentally woken up your stable hand trying to sneak into the apartment above the garage," she confesses guiltily. "He was far kinder about it then I would have been."

Another laugh shakes its way through her father's chest and Emma feels an answering one bloom in response.

"Yeah well, Killian's a good guy. Just don't make a habit of disturbing his sleep, I'd hate to have to replace him, never met anyone who works as hard as he does."

"What's his story anyway?" Emma asks, fighting another yawn. "Obviously he's not from around here."

"We can talk about it tomorrow, right now you need sleep."

Sleep; right, that would be amazing. And she's tired enough now that she thinks she'll be able to fall into an easy slumber, hopefully one that's blissfully empty.

She pulls back, grabbing the lantern and her father follows her down the hall to the spare room.

"Where's your suitcase?"

Flopping back on the bed with a contented groan, Emma closes her eyes. "Left it in the car, didn't feel like lugging it through the mud and rain."

A hinge creaks and Emma cracks an eye open, watching her father rummage through the closet before tossing a set of pyjamas next to her on the bed.

"I'll bring it in for you in the morning."

Thunder rumbles again, growing quieter, distant, and she thinks that he looks sad in the dim light of the lantern.

"It's good to see you, kiddo," he says, lingering for a moment in the doorway.

"You too, dad."

He closes the door softly behind him and Emma forces herself to stand and change, swapping her damp, horridly wrinkled pant suit for cozy flannel that smells of fabric softener and earth.

Wrapped in a cocoon of soft quilts and crocheted blankets, Emma snuffs out the lantern, plunging the room into a true darkness she had grown unaccustomed to in the city. Out here, with the power down and storm clouds cloaking the moon and stars, there's nothing but dark empty space, stretching for miles and miles. It's quiet too; only the soft patter of raindrops against the roof and the dwindling roll of thunder fill the silence.

It should be unsettling, the stillness, after years of living in a city that never truly sleeps, but it isn't, not at all. It's peaceful, cathartic; it's exactly what she needs, and the last thought that crosses her mind before sleep ever so gently pulls her under, is that she's exactly where she needs to be. She's home.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Can I just say how absolutely blown away I am by the response to this story? You guys are amazing! I can honestly say I never expected to receive so many comments, favourites, and follows after just one tiny little chapter. WOW! Thank you so much!

Now here's the second chapter! Enjoy! :)

* * *

Emma wakes briefly, if one can even call it waking, it's not full awareness by any means. She doesn't even open her eyes; it's just a snippet of consciousness, a fleeting moment in which she is surrounded by the warmth of her mother's arms, flowery perfume and the press of lips to her forehead. It comes and goes in a heartbeat, and soon she's slipping back into the comforting embrace of somnolence.

True wakefulness comes to her much later, slowly, in stages as if ascending an invisible staircase, each step rousing a new sense.

Sound greets her first, the faint tune of Journey's _Don't Stop Believin'_ drifting from somewhere in the house (her father always did have a thing for 80's pop), the feel of plush blankets and a warm breeze next. The air is filled with the scent of saturated earth, rainfall and growth and new beginnings, permeated by the delicious alchemy of percolating coffee, an aroma so intoxicating that she can practically taste it against her tongue.

Finally Emma opens her eyes, squinting against the bright light shining through the open window. The day appears sunny and warm, and she stretches languidly, revelling in the fact that she has absolutely nothing on her agenda. She'd forgotten what it was like to wake up out here in the country, to fresh air and the sounds of nature and farm life. It's a halcyon paradise and she feels more rested than she has in years.

Neal and the fight and the breakup rush to the forefront of her mind but she pushes them back, stomping down hard on all the feelings of anger and sadness and regret, the thoughts of 'why me?' and 'what did I do wrong?', refusing to let him ruin such a beautiful day.

Creaking, the bedroom door is nudged open by the broad nose of an aging Labrador-Retriever. The big black dog stands there with just his head peaking through the opening, tongue lolling, goofy grin on his face.

"Come here, Duke!" she calls, sitting up in bed to prepare for the impending onslaught of slobbery kisses.

Duke obeys immediately, bounding across the room and leaping onto the bed, barrelling head-first into her chest, proceeding to immediately lick her entire face with his tongue. After several seconds and a couple unfortunate French kisses, she pushes him away, scratching behind his ear with her nails.

"Yuck, ugh gross, that's enough you doofus!"

Duke barks happily and Emma laughs.

"Yes I missed you too," she tells him. "You must be getting slow in your old age; you didn't even hear me come home last night, did you?"

The dog snuffles through the blankets, pawing at her hip and she gives him a solid pat on the head.

"What do you say old man? Should we go get some breakfast?"

Duke perks up and hops off the bed, whining excitedly. If dogs could talk, she's pretty sure this guy would.

Following Duke into the kitchen, she finds her father frying bacon on the stove, humming along with the radio. The clock on the microwave reads quarter to noon and she stands on her toes, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.

"Morning, dad," she greets, turning down the volume on the stereo as she pours coffee.

Duke sits proudly at her father's feet and head butts him in the thigh.

"Ah good boy Duke!" her father praises the dog, tossing him a small nibble of bacon. "Finally got lazybones here out of bed."

"Hey! I think I deserve to sleep in after the day I had!" The words come out harsher than intended, snappy and defensive, and she instantly wishes she could take them back.

David hands her a plate of pancakes and piles a generous helping of bacon on the side.

"I was only kidding, peanut."

The nickname warms her heart and Emma sighs. "I know, I'm sorry."

Ruffling her hair, he echoes her sigh.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She appreciates the offer, she really does, but she's not going to take him up on it, not today, and definitely not tomorrow. Maybe in a week, when she's had time to settle, to breathe, to distance herself from the ugly reality of it all, but today she's going to do what she does best and avoid the hell out of it.

"Not yet," she says with a sense of finality that leaves little room for discussion.

Her father accepts her avoidance readily (far more so than she suspects her mother will) and takes a seat at the table with her. Duke nudges his way past the chairs to lie beneath the table at their feet, a furry footrest for her bare toes.

Pouring an obscene amount of syrup over her pancakes, she digs in, savouring the way light and fluffy melds with sticky sweet. She's always been god-awful at cooking, her attempts at pancakes more closely resembling lumpy rubber than anything remotely edible.

"This is amazing, dad," she compliments through a mouthful of bacon.

"Only the best for my little princess"

23 years old and he still calls her by the same silly endearments as he did when she was a just a small girl of 3. It's sweet and charming and suddenly she feels absolutely terrible for only visiting a handful of time in the last 5 years. She's got to be the worst daughter ever.

Studying him while she eats, she notices that age has definitely taken its toll on his features in her absence. His blonde hair is heavily peppered with grey at the temples and has noticeably receded. Wrinkles, deep lines and creases, mark the plains of his face, evidence of hearty laughter and full smiles, over half a century of hard work and good life. He's softer now too (she'd noticed last night when she hugged him), still muscular but not nearly to the extent she remembers. She supposes that's to be expected with age. It also makes sense if he isn't working the farm as much these days.

Sipping at her coffee (flavoured with a spoonful of cocoa and a sprinkle of cinnamon) she curls her bare toes into the warmth of Duke's fur, rubbing his belly with her feet.

"When did you decide to hire full-time help?" she asks, nodding in the direction of the barn.

They've always had one or two seasonal staff in the busy summer months, when tourism picks up and the cabins on the other side of the property are rented out to guests interested in fishing and camping and trail rides, wanting to learn all about life in the country, away from the plush comforts and easy conveniences of the city.

They've never had hired help the rest of the year though; her father had always been the one to care for the property, mucking out stalls and giving riding lessons to kids from the nearby town, while her mother worked at the elementary school, teaching years 4 through 6; the town so small, (a population of only 742), that grades are combined because there just aren't enough students to bother separating them (and paying extra staff).

"We hired Killian back in March. Last winter was the worst we've seen in years and with that ice-storm, the clean up was just too much to handle on my own." He wipes at his mouth with a napkin after he finishes his last sip of coffee. "I'm hardly a spring chicken any more Emma, figured it was about time to cut back on my responsibilities. I still teach the lessons and take care of the business and financial aspects, but Killian does most of the manual labour these days."

"How is he with the horses? Emma asks as she swipes her finger through the pool of syrup on her otherwise empty plate, bringing to her lips and savouring the flavour of real home-made maple syrup (so much better than the processed stuff sold in big chain stores).

"He's great. The horses love him; even Leroy, that cantankerous old pony of yours."

Emma laughs, disbelieving. Leroy aka Grumpy, was the stout little grey pony she learned to ride on as a child.

"Seriously? Grumpy? We're talking about the same pony right? The little shit who dumped me on my ass more times than I can count? The one that we can't even use for pony rides because we'd never have a repeat customer if we sent every kid back to their parents crying?"

David laughs. "One and the same; follows Killian around like a lost little foal."

"I think I'm going to have to see this to believe it!"

Standing, Emma gathers the dishes. Her father cooked, cleaning up is the least she can do.

"Even Duke likes him," her father insists, "and you know how he usually is with men."

Duke has always been what they liked to call a one-man-dog; unerringly loyal to her father, but extremely wary around all other men, preferring to growl quietly from a distance. Women have never been a problem, Duke has loved each and every one he met, but men have always been another story altogether.

She fills the sink with hot water and dish soap (vanilla and orange pekoe, Granny's signature blend).

"Who is this guy? Cesar Millan? Some dog and pony whisperer?"

Grabbing a towel from the oven, David moves to stand next to her, chortling as he dries the frying pan.

"Nah, he's just good people; quiet, honest, hardworking. Your mother has always maintained that animals have a sixth sense about that sort of thing and I have to say I agree with her."

Emma has to admit that she agrees as well. Perhaps she should have taken Duke's complete and total animosity toward Neal (even back in high school) as a sign. It's too late for that now though. Oh well, you live and learn.

Cleaning the kitchen of a late breakfast's clutter doesn't take long with her father's help, and when they're done, she turns to him, twirling the dishtowel between her hands.

"What are you up to today?" she asks him, not really wanting to be alone with her thoughts, wanting the distraction of company (specifically someone she knows won't press her to talk). She could call up Ruby or even Belle, both long-time friends, but she knows they won't be free until after work. Both had chosen to stay in the small town after high school; Ruby had opened up her own dog grooming shop right next door to Granny's (Ruby's Grandmother by blood, not just in name), and Belle, the bookworm that she was, had fallen into the logical occupation of librarian.

"Got plans to run into town," David tells her apologetically, as if he instinctually knows she was hoping to spend more time with him. "Truck needs a tune up and the bills won't pay themselves."

Actually they probably would if her father would take a step into the twenty-first century and learn how to use online banking (she doesn't expect that to happen any time soon though).

"You're welcome to come with me if you..."

She's fairly certain the look on her face must be reluctant and more than a little repulsed.

"Or not," he chuckles. "Killian said he was going to head out for a ride after lunch to check the property for storm damage. I doubt he'd mind the company if you wanted to go with him."

It's not a terrible suggestion; a nice long ride might be just what she needs to clear her head, and she should probably apologize again to the poor guy for disturbing his sleep.

"I might do that. Gonna grab a quick shower first though; want to wash the stench of city and fast food from my hair." (And Neal), she adds silently. "I'll see you and Mom tonight for dinner?"

Nodding, David heads to the mudroom, pulling on his boots and a light windbreaker. "Was thinking of grabbing Granny's; any requests?"

Despite the fact that she's just eaten and her stomach is still full of pancakes and bacon, her mouth waters and she almost wishes she didn't have to wait until later.

"Grilled cheese!" Emma all but demands. "And fries. Hot cocoa too. Oh, pick up one of her frozen lasagnas for tomorrow. And definitely some of those pecan butter tarts. She still makes them right?"

David jots each request down on a piece of paper, his smile steadily growing wider. "So I guess I'll just inform her that we intend to eat her out of house and home?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Food from Granny's Diner had been a regular occurrence growing up and it's something she has missed dearly these last 5 years being away from home.

"Have a good day, kiddo," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Another childish nickname; it's something that should probably bother her, but instead they just make her feel loved (like she belongs).

"You too, Dad."

She hears the old diesel truck rumble to life as she turns the knob, starting the shower in the bathroom, glad that the guestroom has an en suite of its own. The bathroom is stocked with shampoo and conditioner (her mother is like a boy scout; always prepared), which is good because they definitely weren't on her short list of important items to grab when she was hastily packing yesterday morning. It's likely she'd forgotten a number of things, but she can't bring herself to care (items can be replaced and she's never really been the sentimental sort anyway).

Finishing in the shower quickly, she towels off and twists her hair into a messy braid before tugging on jeans and a thin sweater. She finds a pair of her old cowboy boots in the closet and steps into them, thankful that her parents kept them around.

Duke follows her out the door, bounding off in the opposite direction when Emma walks across the yard. She makes her way into the barn but it's empty (Killian must still be eating lunch).

She looks around, impressed. _Hard worker is right_. The stables are immaculate; organized and well swept, not a stray bit of hay or shavings in sight. Even the stubborn cobwebs that forever seem to cling to the rafters have been cleared away. She peaks into several stalls; water buckets scrubbed clean, hay stacked neatly beneath them. The latches on each door are different than she remembers; sturdy wrought iron that looks recently replaced. Even the feed and tack rooms are tidy and swept.

Trailing her fingers along a window ledge, they come away dust free. This new guy is good, _really good_; she can see why her father likes him. The barn is cleaner than her apartment had ever been.

"Inspecting my work, love?"

Emma jumps, startled, holding her hand over her thundering heart as she turns to face Killian.

"Jesus! Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?" she scolds lightly.

"Thought perhaps I'd return the favour," Killian says with a teasing grin. "After all, you nearly gave me one last night when you stumbled into my apartment, blundering about in the dark, breaking things."

"I'm pretty sure I already apologized for that," she retorts, frustrated for a reason she cannot name. Something about the smug grin on his face just makes her itch to punch him.

"You did," he admits, scratching behind his ear. "Just wasn't quite sure you could recall it. You were pretty out of it." He pauses and his voice softens, filled with empathy and understanding. "Long day, I take it?"

"That's putting it lightly. Things weren't exactly going my way."

She lapses into silence, consumed by her thoughts for a moment before shaking her head. She can't seriously be considering spilling all her dark, dirty secrets to this man, this perfect stranger who she knows next to nothing about, can she?

Of course not.

She just got caught up for a second; distracted by kind blue eyes and that mesmerizing accent. She's heard the saying before, that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and she finds it ridiculously cheesy, but she thinks that maybe there's some truth to it, because for the briefest of seconds, she can see much of the same pain that she feels, reflected back at her through his eyes.

Or maybe he really is a freaking animal whisperer, and she's fallen under some hinky voodoo spell.

The thought is enough to send a burst of laughter passed her lips, and he looks at her again like there's nothing he wants more in this world than to know all of her secrets.

It's unnerving.

So she huffs and glares pointedly at him. "Seriously, quit looking at me like that!"

And the arrogant smile is back. "Like what, love?"

Flustered, she decides to drop the matter entirely and change course.

"My dad said you were planning to ride out and check the fence line for damage. Do you want some company or not?"

She came out here to go for a ride and she not going to let him stop her.

"Aye, I would love some."

And just like that an easy silence settles over them and he follows her out to one of the large fields where the horses graze, lingering a step behind her, like a shadow she can't (and if she's honest, doesn't really want to) shake.

They pick the two horses standing closest to the gate (the mares in this paddock are all well trained and used frequently for lessons and trail rides), a bright red roan named Ariel and a sooty black named Pocahontas.

Her mother definitely has a thing for fairytales and Disney princesses. (_It's a little weird_.)

Killian takes the dark mare and latches the gate as Emma leads Ariel back toward the barn.

Catching sight of Duke across the yard, Emma whistles for him, laughing as he comes running, proudly carrying a large stick in his mouth.

And he runs right past her...

To Killian.

_Sonofabitch_. Her dad was right.

Duke hands the stick to Killian and sits proudly at his feet, tail wagging excitedly against the ground as Killian rubs the top of his head.

"Traitor!" Emma calls to the dog in what she hopes is a joking manner.

Killian bends and whispers something to Duke, handing him the stick and immediately Duke turns on his haunches and lopes lazily to Emma's side.

Un-fucking-believable.

She's got freaking Cesar Millan (version two-point-oh - the Irish edition) living on her farm and befriending her supposed man-hater of a dog. Just when she thought life couldn't get any weirder.

Taking the proffered stick, she chucks it down the driveway for Duke to fetch before leading the horse into the barn. Killian joins her with the other mare seconds later.

"What did you say to him?" Emma asks, curious.

"I told him that playing favourites wasn't nice, and that he ought to bring the stick to you before you got jealous and decided to deprive me of the pleasure of your company."

His eyes sparkle mischievously and she smiles facetiously as she elbows him not so gently in the ribs. He sucks in a breath, looking wounded, but it's definitely all an act.

"Seriously though, what did you say?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets."

She punches him lightly this time, square in the shoulder.

"All right, all right, fine. All I said was 'Give the stick to Emma' and he did," Killian chuckles at her disbelieving look. "He may have a head hard as rock, but he's quite the intelligent beast."

Emma sighs. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised he chose you over me. You've probably spent more time with him in the last month than I have in 5 years. I should just be glad he doesn't hate me."

Killian bumps his shoulder against hers softly and gives her a reassuring look. "I'm no expert, but I'm fairly certain dogs don't hold grudges, love, and they definitely don't experience time the same way we do. Whatever has kept you from him the last 5 years, I very much doubt that Duke cares. I imagine he's just happy to see you."

The smile she gives him is small and wobbly, like a newborn foal learning to stand on unsteady legs, but she's pretty sure it's the most authentic one to have touched her lips in weeks. Whoever this man is, whatever his story, he seems to understand her, and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, they could be friends.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Finally getting this posted. Had originally intended to do it this morning, but ended up spending the day over at my sisters new house painting her kitchen and dining room.

It's a longer chapter though, so hopefully that makes up for the wait!

* * *

The terrain on the ranch (nearly 200 acres in total) varies greatly; rolling hills give way to thick forest, flat plains flanked by rocky escarpment, rushing rivers and quiet lakes, all nestled in the shadow of neighbouring mountains. Only a small portion of the property is actually fenced, pastureland for the horses, but it's important to ensure that all barriers are standing and sturdy (locating and catching a loose horse on 200 acres is a task that at best, can take days, at worst, is impossible, and they've lost a few escapees over the years to the rugged country and the predatory animals that inhabit it).

It's relatively safe near the house and the barn, by the guest cabins too; the mountain lions, wolves, and bears tend not to wander too close, but out away from the shelter of buildings, away from electricity and machinery, caution and a loaded gun are imperative.

Emma learned to shoot when she was only 10 years old, and it has been a long standing rule that no one is to ride passed the fenced portion of the ranch alone, and never without a gun and a walkie-talkie (cell reception is notoriously unreliable out here).

Tacking up the horses doesn't take long, and Killian packs his saddlebags with a box of nails, a hammer, and a small hand saw, so Emma grabs a rifle and a radio from the small office, slinging the former over her shoulder and clipping the latter to her belt.

"Ready to head out?" she asks, tightening the cinch to secure the saddle.

Killian nods and grabs a coiled rope from the wall. "Whenever you are, love."

She's not sure how she feels about him calling her 'love' all the time, but he seems to do so without any real thought, so she figures that it must just be ingrained into his vocabulary and not of any particular significance.

They lead the horses outside to mount and Emma takes a moment to survey the property. It's been well taken care of; the grass methodically cut in an attractive criss-cross pattern, trees and hedges neatly trimmed, even the ever-present potholes in the driveway have been filled and patched. The barn could use a sanding and a fresh coat of sealer though, and Emma thinks that maybe she'll offer to help with that. It's not as if she's otherwise employed at the moment.

Seated on the sturdy red roan mare, Emma watches Killian mount; worn denim stretching over muscular thighs as he does so gracefully. It's obvious that he's spent more than the last few months around horses and she wonders where he learned to ride; she wonders a lot of things about him, particularly how exactly an Irish guy ended up out here, working for her parents in the middle of nowhere British Columbia.

"You've done a really good job looking after the farm," she tells him honestly. "I don't think I've ever seen it look this good."

Killian blushes lightly at the compliment, ears red as he rubs at his jaw. Apparently he's not used to receiving praise.

"I do my best. Your parents have been very good to me these last few months and I enjoy the hard work; keeps the hands and mind occupied, and the soul fulfilled."

Now that's a truth she can get behind. Back in the city, her 9 to 5 desk job had been soul sucking (incredibly boring and more than a little demeaning). In some roundabout way she's actually glad the business went bankrupt and had to let her go, because if they hadn't, she never would have gone back to her apartment, and she never would have caught Neal. So yeah, her entire life is in upheaval and it all hurts like hell right now, but at least she's not living a lie.

Nudging her horse forward, Emma smiles; it's a beautiful spring day, the sun is out, the birds are singing (okay, maybe they aren't _actually_ singing), but she's on a horse for the first time since Christmas and she's not going to let anything ruin this moment.

"You coming, cowboy?" The comment is tossed casually over her shoulder and she hears Killian laugh warmly.

He spurs the big black mare forward to jog slowly at Emma's side, looping the rope over the horn of his saddle.

"Where shall we begin?"

"I guess heading up the driveway is as good a place as any," Emma says, nodding to the right.

They ride along the fence line in relative silence, scanning for broken boards as they go. The section along the driveway is intact, so they head down the fork in the road toward the cabins, Killian trotting ahead to open the gate that blocks their path, effortlessly unlatching it and manoeuvring it out of the way from horseback (a task that appears far easier than it actually is).

"Where did you learn to ride?" Emma asks, waiting while Killian closes the gate behind them.

"Back in Ireland when I was just a lad of 6. The neighbours had horses and offered to give me lessons after they caught me foolishly attempting to mount their prized stallion by climbing a fence and clambering onto his back." Killian smiles nostalgically at the memory, then laughs, "it's a bloody miracle I wasn't killed or trampled."

There's a subtle sadness in his eyes, well hidden behind a smile and a laugh, but she catches sight of it shimmering in the sky blue of his irises, calling to her, pulling questions to the forefront of her mind as she's filled with the unexpected (but not totally unwelcome) desire to learn more about this enigmatic stranger.

They've only just met though, and it's hardly fair of her to expect him to lay bare all his secrets, when she herself is determined to lock her own away where they can't hurt her, where they'll never see the light of day. She's apparently become ridiculously reflective in the past 24 hours and if the slightly puzzled, but amused look on Killian's face is any indication, it's clearly impairing her social skills.

Conversation: right, that thing where when one person says something, it's usually expected that the other reply.

"I was riding before I could walk," she offers, "I don't have any memory of it, but there are pictures of me, starting at about 6 months seated in front of my dad on a horse. Got my first pony, you know Leroy, when I was 4."

"Aye, I do. He's an interesting old fellow."

Emma laughs at that. "That's putting it politely. I swear to god he would pull so much shit, spook at nothing and scream bloody murder just to scare the other horses."

Falling into light conversation while they ride the fence line, Emma tells Killian stories about many of the horses to have lived at the ranch over the years, and Killian shares his own tales of trusty steeds, nasty falls, and broken bones.

When the cabins come into sight she hears Killian groan and curse softly. There are five buildings, spread out in the relatively level field (two small single bedroom cottages and three larger ones intended for families). Several branches have fallen from the old oak trees that scatter the clearing, and a huge one has smashed right through the bay window of the largest cabin.

"Fantastic," Killian mutters, clearly upset, more so than she would expect for a broken window.

Clean up is going to take time and tools that they don't have with them right now, so Emma reaches for his arm, squeezing lightly.

"Hey, don't worry about it right now," she tells him, "we can come back later and take care of it."

Sighing, he nods and they continue on.

The afternoon sun is bright and warm and Emma pushes up the sleeves of her thin sweater, wishing she had opted for a t-shirt instead. She probably also should have worn sunscreen; if she doesn't burn, she'll certainly wind up with a generous dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

For the most part, the fences have fared well and there's only minimal damage on the far edge of one pasture where a young pine has come down on the boards. Killian dismounts, allowing his horse to stop and graze while he attempts to pull the fallen tree from the fence, strong muscles flexing beneath the black cotton of his t-shirt (she'd have to be blind not to notice), but the tree is heavy and he only succeeds in shifting it about half a foot sideways before it becomes lodged against the post.

Leaning over to grab the coiled rope from his saddle, Emma calls his name and tosses the bulk of it to him.

"Killian, tie it around the tree," she suggests.

He does and she winds the other end of the rope around the horn of her saddle, knotting it tightly. She asks her horse to back up and when the rope goes taught, the mare skitters uncertainly against the tension. Emma pats her neck reassuringly and tells her she's a good girl before asking again; the mare shifts slowly sideways, effectively lifting the tree with her weight and Killian guides it easily over the fence post to rest on the ground.

Pleased, he turns and looks up at her with a smile.

"It would appear we make quite the team, lass."

Emma grins back at him and recoils the rope when he loosens it from the trunk.

"I guess this proves you can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl," she says with a laugh. It's a clichéd saying but there's a weighty truth behind it, and she can't help but feel at peace out here, more at home (even in unfamiliar company) than she ever did in the city.

His laugh is good-natured and she dismounts, looping her reins over the saddle horn as he inspects the fence. The horses stand grazing happily together and she's not worried about tying them to the fence; they're well trained and aren't going anywhere.

She grabs the hammer and nails from his saddlebags and carries them over to him, groaning as the already aching muscles in her inner thighs protest. Anyone who tells you horseback riding is like sitting on a couch is either an idiot or a liar; muscles you rarely use for anything else come into play and Emma knows that she's going to be sore tomorrow.

The top three boards in this section of fence have come loose, but are thankfully not broken. She steps over the lowest board to join Killian in the field, handing him the hammer and nails before crouching to lift the bottom board and hold it in place while he hammers a nail expertly into the wood.

Together they make quick work of patching the fence and he leans against each board, pushing and pulling to be sure they are secure.

Satisfied that the boards will hold, he climbs back over the fence, hopping easily to the ground on the other side. Emma climbs over slowly and Killian offers his hand to help her down. She considers not taking it, but her legs are a little wobbly and she'd rather not fall on her face, so she grabs his hand, warm and rough against her own, and allows him to steady her as she jumps down.

Even with his help, she stumbles over the uneven ground, nearly falling, but he catches her with his other hand against her shoulder, propping her up.

"All right there, love?" The words themselves are kind and concerned, but the bastard is definitely suppressing a laugh.

She nods, embarrassed. God, she's not usually this much of a klutz.

He lets go of her and she stands steadily on her own.

"I swear I'm not actually this uncoordinated," she insists, "last night was the product of exhaustion and a day full of shit, and right now my legs are just not used to being in the saddle for hours."

"If the lady insists," he says with a cheeky grin, looking over his shoulder at her as he mounts his horse. "Though I must admit, I had hoped it was my delightful personality and dashing good looks that had you nearly tumbling head over heels."

Rolling her eyes, she pulls herself back up into her own saddle. "You wish," she mutters under her breath, just loud enough that she knows he can hear it.

"I cannot in good conscience say that I would be in opposition to it.

She shakes her head in disbelief, a smile pulling at her lips; he talks like some 19th century nobleman, flowery words devoid of contractions; it's both ridiculous and a little bit endearing.

She's searching yet again for a witty retort (it's unsettling how easily this man can render her speechless), when the radio at her hip crackles raucously to life.

"Emma? Killian?" her father's voice sounds through the speaker.

Unclipping the radio from her belt, Emma twists a knob, lowering the volume slightly before thumbing the push-to-talk button. "Yeah, we're here Dad. What's up?"

"Your mother and I are at Granny's now picking up dinner; we'll be home in about half an hour. Tell Killian he's welcome to join us."

"Roger that," she says, "we're just checking the last of the fence line. See you guys soon."

"10-4, Goose," her father's voice rasps humorously over the radio.

"Over and out, Maverick," Emma replies, grinning as she clips the walkie-talkie back to her belt. Top Gun is probably her father's favourite movie of all time and they've been referring to each other as Maverick and Goose over the radios for as long as she can remember.

Killian is looking at her again with that strangely affectionate smile and she catches his eye, nodding to the watch encircling his wrist.

"What time is it?"

He looks down, twisting the band. "4:30," he reads, surprised, "we had better get back and bring the horses in, they'll be anxious for supper."

Emma looks up at the sun still high in sky. With summer quickly approaching, the days have grown long, the afternoons stretching on in seemingly endless fashion, stripping meaning from the hours until they're only a vague concept of the passage of time.

"Last one back has to explain to Leroy why we're late with his grain!" she calls, laughing as she spurs her mare forward into a canter.

Most of the way back, they canter leisurely, side by side, Emma enjoying the wind and the sun on her face, the gentle rock of the horse between her legs. When they reach the last quarter mile before the barn, she bends low over the strong neck of the mare and asks her to run, relishing in the brief surge of power gathering in the horse's hindquarters, building beneath her before erupting in a flurry of motion that leaves her smiling so hard it hurts.

Emma knows for a fact that Killian lets her win on purpose; his mare is just a touch faster than hers and he could have easily won if he wanted to, but she pulls up first, seconds ahead of him, adrenaline and the thrill of winning (even something as inconsequential as a silly race) thrumming through her veins.

Laughing, she hops from the horse, landing on shaky legs. Killian dismounts too, grinning at her, and they un-tack the mares quickly, letting them wander loose in the round pen to cool out while they head into the barn to divvy up grain for the rest of the horses. Killian has it all memorized and doesn't even need to glance at the whiteboard to remember the correct type, amount and which supplements are required.

They finish the task quickly and after they return Ariel and Pocahontas to their stalls, Emma takes a moment to stretch out her hamstrings.

"You can head back to the house if you want, love," Killian says, watching her closely. "I'll bring the horses in by myself; 'tis my job after all."

She shakes her head, standing upright. "Nah it's okay, I'm good to help. Walking will stretch things out."

He hands her a couple lead ropes and together they head out to the first field. There are 24 horses total but with both of them leading two horses each trip, they manage to have everyone settled in their stalls within 10 minutes.

They're heading out of the barn (she's laughing at an awful joke Killian told her) just in time to see David's 1976 Ford F250 rumble down the driveway, closely followed by her mother's ancient station wagon. It's an absolute miracle that both of the vehicles still run as well as they do, and Emma counts herself lucky that her old Volkswagen Beetle has also been lumped into the ranks of indestructible cars.

Heading toward the house where her parents have parked, Emma is gathered in a tight hug as soon as her mother steps from the car.

"It's so good to have you home Emma," Mary-Margaret gushes, squeezing so hard that Emma can hardly breathe.

Thankfully David comes to her rescue. "Ease up on the squeezing there Mary-Margaret or you won't have a daughter to hug," he warns jokingly.

Her mother's arms loosen and Emma pulls back to smile at her. "Don't worry Mom, I'm not leaving any time soon. You're stuck with me for the foreseeable future."

This seems to make her mother (who finally releases her) happy. Emma hardly has a chance to breathe before her mother starts talking and asking questions.

David's arms are loaded with bags from Granny's and he makes his way toward the front porch, nodding for Killian to follow him. "Let's get dinner set out while the girls catch up," Emma hears him say to Killian before turning back toward her and her mother, "ladies, you have 5 minutes, then we're eating without you and we can't promise leftovers!"

Emma watches the guys head into the house, Killian holding the door open for her father, Duke appearing out of nowhere and bounding up the steps behind them.

"Emma... Emma?!"

She turns, looking back at her mother.

"Did you hear anything I just said?" Mary-Margaret asks, exasperated, now holding a ridiculously large pile of homework assignments in her arms.

Yeah... she definitely wasn't listening to a single word.

"No, sorry," she apologizes, "what were you saying?"

"Your father told me the gist of things with Neal, but what about your job, your apartment?" her mother asks, clearly concerned.

Of course her mother has to start by jumping right to hard parts. _Of course_.

Emma sighs, trying not to sound irritated. None of this is her mother's fault and she really shouldn't take her head off for simply wanting to discuss it.

"There is no job, not anymore, the company went bankrupt," she explains. "And as for the apartment, I took what I needed, everything else can be replaced, or if the asshole feels like it, he can pack it up and pay to have it shipped across the border; fuck if I care."

Her mother seems taken aback by her coarse language (but then again she always is; being so soft-spoken, full of hope and sunshine, sugar and spice and everything nice), but Emma doesn't have it in her to filter out profanities where Neal is concerned.

After a moment Mary-Margaret's frown transforms into a smile. "So you'll be staying?"

Emma nods. "Yup, give me a week or so to just chill, then I'll head into town and start looking for work."

Her mother shuffles the heavy load in her arms and Emma reaches out to take half of it.

"You could just work for us this summer," her mother suggests, "your father hasn't hired anyone yet to help with cleaning the cabins and taking care of guests. Would save us the trouble of training someone," she points out, "plus you and Killian seem to get on well and he's already offered to help with the trail rides and overnight camping trips."

It could be the prospect of more time spent with Killian, or perhaps just the fact that she wouldn't have to deal with the stress of job hunting, but it actually sounds like a fantastic idea and she finds herself nodding, looking forward to a summer of hard work; long days spent riding and warm nights telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows around an open fire.

"You know what, Mom? I think that's exactly what I need."

If her mother's hands weren't full, Emma suspects she would be clapping them with glee. "Excellent! You can let your father know that he doesn't have to head into town to put that ad in the paper tomorrow."

"Speaking of town, I don't know about you, but I'm starving and I don't imagine Dad was kidding when he said 5 minutes or they'd start without us," Emma points out, nodding toward the door.

Their hands are quite full, but Killian meets them at the door and holds it open as they walk in, taking the papers into his own arms so they can remove their boots.

"Killian, would you mind putting those in my office?" Mary-Margaret asks as she hangs up her blazer.

"Yes, Ma'am," Killian replies formally and Emma has to suppress a very unladylike snort.

"It's Mary-Margaret!" her mother corrects in a singsong voice.

Emma hasn't really had the chance to discuss it with her parents, but Killian navigates the house with an easy familiarity and she suspects that this isn't the first time they've invited him in for dinner. Her parents have always been the sort to welcome newcomers with open arms, and she isn't at all surprised that Killian has seemingly been afforded the same treatment.

Her father pours steaming cocoa into mugs and her mother mixes a salad while Emma washes the dirt from her hands. Groaning in relief, she takes a seat at the round table, stretching out her sore limbs as Killian returns from the office.

Leaning casually in the kitchen doorway with a grin, he speaks at the same time as her father.

"You're in my seat."

"You're in Killian's seat."

Emma looks back and forth between the two of them and then to her mother (who just shrugs).

"He has a designated seat?" she asks incredulously, laughing at the absurdity of the situation, before standing and relocating to the chair on her right.

"Is this acceptable?" she asks lightly. "Or has this one also been spoken for in my absence?"

"You're good there, honey," her mother tells her, placing the salad on the table and taking the seat to her right.

David carries over the hot cocoa and when everyone is seated, Emma digs into the boxes scattered around the table, piling fries and a couple halves of golden grilled cheese on her plate. She spoons salad onto the side when her mother hands her the bowl, and she passes it along to Killian before greedily biting into her grilled cheese, closing her eyes and moaning.

"Mmmm, soooooo good," she says around a mouthful of buttery toast and congealed cheese.

A collective chuckle sounds from the occupants of the table, but she doesn't care if she's being ridiculous; Granny's grilled cheese is _that_ good.

Conversation flows naturally as they eat, and Emma mostly listens, intrigued by the easy camaraderie her father and Killian seem to share.

"How were the fences?" David asks, directing the question at Killian.

"Only one spot of minor damage. Emma helped with the repairs," Killian says smiling at her, "unfortunately though, the largest cabin was not so lucky, there's half a tree sitting in her front window."

David frowns at that. "I guess after we eat we should grab the chainsaw and drive over there to clean things up while we still have daylight."

Nodding, Killian agrees. "I've still got spare plywood in the garage; we can use that to patch the hole until we can replace the window."

"I'll add that to my list of errands to run in town tomorrow," David says.

Mary-Margaret chooses that moment to look pointedly at Emma, nudging her with an elbow (a not so subtle reminder to inform her father of her decision to work for them this summer).

"Uh actually Dad, there's one thing you can cross off your list," she begins, "when Mom and I were talking outside we decided that instead of you guys hiring someone new, it made more sense for me to help out with the guests and trail rides this summer."

Her father looks surprised, but also quite happy with the news. "You're planning to stick around for the whole summer?"

Her family keeps reacting with poorly concealed shock and skepticism when she insists that she's actually planning to stay, but it makes sense. It's not like she's given them much reason to believe it.

Emma nods. The summer, the fall, likely next winter; she has no real idea where her life is headed and home seems as good a place as any to figure it all out. "Yup, got nowhere else I'd rather be."

"That's great!" Her father seems absolutely thrilled and Emma can't help but share his smile.

"Sometime next week if the weather is good, you should take Killian up to the tepees, make sure he knows the way and that everything is in order up there for camping," he suggests. "First guests arrive June 12th and we're booked steady through the summer after that."

The tepees are located out on a section of the ranch only accessible by horseback (and only reachable during the warmer months); a four hour ride through rivers, across fields, and up steep inclines. There's no electricity, no plumbing, and no running water save for the small brook that runs along the south edge of the clearing; it's the true meaning of rustic camping and many of their guests seem determined to experience it.

It's been years since she made the trip but she still knows it like the back of her hand (the long summers of her childhood ensuring it forever committed to memory, vivid and nostalgic).

Normally she would never consider going off into the wilderness alone with a man she's known for less than 24 hours, but he really does seem like a decent guy and her parents have known him for months; she trusts that they wouldn't send her off with some creep or axe murderer.

"Yeah, we can do that on Monday," she agrees, "I really should catch up with Belle and Ruby this weekend."

Mary-Margaret instantly perks up at the mention of Emma's friends and Emma rolls her eyes, knowing what's coming; her mother loves _any_ excuse (no matter how small) to play hostess. "Invite them over on Saturday Emma; we'll have a barbecue and a bonfire and you three can go out for a trail ride like you used to when you were just girls!"

Her mother's bubbly enthusiasm is a little much sometimes, but even Emma has to admit it sounds like a pretty awesome way to spend a Saturday.

"And Killian, you'll join us all for dinner and the fire," her father chimes in, "god forbid I should be the only man present."

David looks comically horrified by the prospect of being the only man at a gathering of women, and Killian laughs, agreeing to contribute some additional testosterone to the occasion.

Emma is starting to suspect that half the reason her father hired Killian was so that he would have some male company around the ranch, especially during her mother's weekly craft night, and her book club night, and the occasional elementary school staff get-together.

With matters settled and dinner finished, Emma grabs the box of pecan butter tarts from the counter, nabbing the gooiest for herself before passing them on to Killian. They briefly discuss her mother's day at work (all laughing over her tale of the student who snuck his pet snake into the classroom to scare the girl he liked), and when dessert is finished, Mary-Margaret excuses herself to the office complaining that the giant stack of assignments won't grade themselves.

Killian begins gathering the dishes, rinsing them off before filling the sink with sudsy water. Emma grabs a towel to dry and after her father packs away the leftovers, he joins the procession, replacing the dried dishes in the cupboards. They make quick work of the mess and soon the kitchen is spotless once again.

"You guys heading out to the cabins now?" she asks her father and Killian.

They nod and she grabs her boots, pulling them on. "I'll come with you and help," she offers.

"Let your mother know," David insists, "she'll wonder where you've gone when she finishes grading and no one is here."

"MOM! I'M GOING TO HELP DAD AND KILLIAN!" she yells down the hall, several decibels louder than necessary if her father's cringe and Killian's laugh are anything to go by.

"Okay sweetheart, see you later!" Mary-Margaret replies, poking her head out the office door.

Duke tags along with them as they cross the driveway to the garage. They end up taking Killian's vehicle (a black 1990 Jeep Cherokee), and after they load up the plywood, chainsaw, and several other tools, David takes the passenger seat, leaving Emma to climb into the back with Duke (who is beyond thrilled with the chance to go for a car ride).

It's only 7 o'clock, and with June drawing near and the days growing longer, they should have at least two solid hours of sun left with which to complete the clean up.

After donning protective gloves, David and Killian begin working at cutting the smaller branches from the damaged trees with loppers and a pruning saw, and Emma (with Duke's help) gathers the fallen limbs, piling them neatly beneath the overhang of one of the open woodsheds (when dry, they'll make excellent kindling).

With the smaller debris cleaned up, David grabs the chainsaw from the Jeep, starting it up and Killian takes the axe. Emma pulls the wheelbarrow from the shed and fills it with wood as David cuts, wheeling it over to Killian so he can chop it into smaller pieces. Duke decides that he's found a comfortable spot in the grass out of everyone's way and lies down to supervise. Afterwards they all work together to pile the wood in the shed.

The sun has dropped lower in the sky now and the slightest chill settles in the air with its descent, but they've all worked up a sweat and the cooler evening air is a welcome reprieve from the heat of the day. They break for a minute, drinking greedily from water bottles by the Jeep before heading back to the damaged cabin.

After shooing out a stray raccoon and vacuuming up the broken glass and leaf litter, Emma sits back on one of the plush plaid couches to watch while her father and Killian work together to nail the plywood into place, finishing up just in time to step back outside and watch the sun drop behind the distant mountains in a fiery show of reds and oranges.

When they get back, her father heads into the house with Duke, and Emma trails Killian to the barn to help with night check for the horses.

"You should go home and get some sleep, love," Killian urges her, but Emma just waves him off.

"I'm good," she insists, moving slowly as she pulls on the hose, refilling water buckets.

She's worked a lot today, almost to the point of exhaustion, but she wants that bone-weary fatigue, she needs it. Another 5 minutes to finish up in here and she'll be so tired that she'll fall asleep the second her head hits the pillow.

"Emma love, if you drag your feet any more, you're going to wear right through the soles of your boots."

That makes her laugh. "You sound like my mother. Now quit your mollycoddling; I get enough of that from her, I don't need it from you too."

Her voice holds more irritation that she intended and Killian holds up his hands in surrender, smirking amusedly. "As the lady wishes."

She reaches out to twist the skin covering his bicep between her knuckles and he jumps back with a yelp.

"Bloody hell woman! You either have a seriously disturbing violent streak or you find me so irresistible that you just can't keep your hands off me."

Emma just rolls her eyes and grins at him, turning back to her task. Killian throws hay for the horses while she finishes up with the water, then sweeps quickly as she winds up the hose.

After turning the lights off and closing up the barn for the night, Killian walks her back to the house, a gesture that she finds both ridiculous (because come on, she can see the house from the barn and it's only a 30 second walk) and charming (not that she'd ever admit it), ignoring her protests and holding the door open for her to walk through.

"You're an ass," she tells him as she kicks off her boots.

"I believe the word you're looking for love, is gentleman."

Leaning against the screen door, he grins at her stupidly, laughter alight in his eyes. "Goodnight, Emma."

She huffs dramatically, but returns his smile. "Goodnight, Killian."

She definitely does not watch as he trots down the steps and strolls across the driveway, disappearing into the garage. She definitely _does not_ do that. Nope. Not a chance in hell.

Except that she most certainly does.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: A chapter finally! Another longer one, so I hope you'll forgive me for the wait.

* * *

Emma calls Belle and Ruby up on Thursday evening (she uses the house phone, her cell still sits dead in the front seat of her car and she has no plans to charge it any time soon, not wanting to see the messages that likely await her). She lets them know she's home and that if they're free they should come over on Saturday around noon for a day of trail riding, good food, and fun. They both enthusiastically accept her invitation.

Saturday rolls around and 1pm sees them half an hour into a lazy trail ride through the fields.

The day had dawned bright and early, the night giving way to clear skies and sweltering sun. The last few days of rising early to ride and help Killian with the chores have already improved her stamina and she no longer feels the burn of unused muscles when she rides. She's also been working to ready the cabins for the first round of guests, cleaning a long winter's build up of dust from surfaces and restocking linens and toiletries.

She's dressed for the weather today; still in jeans (because riding in shorts results in all sorts of nasty rubs and blisters), but she wears a thin white tank top and has her hair pulled up into a high ponytail, a baseball cap on her head and a bikini tucked away beneath her clothes.

"So how long was it going on?" Belle asks after Emma finally gives into their pestering and admits the real reason she's back living at home.

She cringes, because how the fuck did she not see it sooner? Was she so blinded by the perfect life she thought they shared to realize that maybe the reason that Neal hadn't sought out sex with her in nearly two months was because he was getting it elsewhere?

"Six weeks," she tells them, "six fucking weeks. I'm just glad that I wasn't having sex with him during those last two months."

"Seriously?" Belle shouts.

"What a fucktard!" Ruby echoes.

Nodding, Emma laughs humorlessly. "He said that he had been wanting to tell me, but that he just hadn't found the right time."

Ruby scoffs. "Yeah, cause there's totally a _right time_ to inform your girlfriend of 7 years that you've been fucking the next door neighbour behind her back for a month and a half."

Oh how she's missed her friends these last 5 years; Ruby and her sarcastic quips, and Belle, sweet and supportive Belle, almost Ruby's polar opposite.

"So now that you're all caught up on my train wreck of a life, what's new with you guys?" Emma asks from her position on the trail between her two best friends.

"Ruby's dating Victor Whale now," Belle reveals, excitedly.

"Really?" Emma says, shocked – it's such a drastic change from Ruby's usual taste in men. "That poor kid everyone teased in high school gym class and called Frankenstein because he had all those scars from the accident with that combine harvester?"

Ruby nods. "He's actually really sweet. He's going to school to become a doctor, but he's home for the summer now."

"And what about you Belle? Any new men in your life?" Emma asks, winking at her friend.

"Oh, no one for me, it's just me and the books right now; they're better company than people most days anyhow."

Emma nods her understanding; she'd probably save a cheap trashy romance novel from a burning building before she'd lift a finger to help Neal.

"So who's the hot Irish guy?" Ruby asks teasingly.

Her friends had caught a glimpse of Killian speaking with her father in the barn while they tacked up the horses and she's surprised it's taken Ruby this long to broach the topic.

"Oh him," Emma says nonchalantly, "that's Killian, my Dad hired him back in March to help out around the ranch."

"You should totally hit that!" Ruby blurts out. "You know, save a horse, ride a cowboy!"

Emma snorts, laughing so hard she's momentarily concerned that she might actually fall from her horse.

"Oh my god," she chokes out, "you didn't just say that..."

They all dissolve into a fit of breathless laughter and when they finally stop, Emma has tears in her eyes and a stitch in her side.

"Seriously though, if he's good looking and available, why not," Ruby pauses, her expression deathly serious, "go for a good roll in the hay?"

Emma starts laughing again, clutching her side in pain. "God Ruby," she says gasping, "stop it already with the terrible clichéd innuendos!"

Ruby doesn't look even remotely apologetic. "Why? Afraid you might actually enjoy a ride on that bucking bronc?"

She glares at Ruby through mirthful tears.

When she can breathe again without pain stabbing at her ribs, Emma shakes her head. "Well first of all he works for my family, and my dad really likes him, he's a great worker," she insists. "Plus he's actually a really nice guy, and I guess we're friends, sort of. I don't want to ruin all that just to satisfy some curiosity."

"So you admit you've thought about it?" Ruby points out.

She has thought about it, but nothing more than passing thoughts, wondering what all is hidden beneath the faded jeans and V-neck t-shirts that reveal just a teasing hint of chest hair. He's definitely easy on the eyes and simply looking never hurt anyone, she reasons, but there's nothing more to it. There can't be.

"Yeah, I guess, I mean he is ridiculously good looking, but really Ruby, I just got out of a seven year relationship. _Seven years_," she stresses, "I'm not looking for anything right now, not even casual sex."

"She has a point, Ruby," Belle says softly.

"I know, I know, I just want you to be happy Em," Ruby says reaching out to squeeze her hand.

Emma squeezes it back and drops her reins, reaching for Belle's hand as well. "I am," she tells them, "I've got my two best friends right here on horseback under this beautiful blue sky. _I'm happy_."

Suddenly both of her friends are leaning out of their saddles and crushing her in a joint hug.

When they pull back, Emma smiles at both of them. "Have I mentioned how much I missed you guys?"

Belle laughs. "Not yet, but feel free to tell us as often as you like."

"I missed you guys," Emma repeats, taking up her reins as the horses move forward again.

The remainder of the afternoon ends up being the most fun Emma has had in years; they gallop the horses across the open fields, racing each other and laughing wildly before taking a break near a small pond, stripping down to their bathing suits and letting the horses graze while they swim in the cool water, swinging from the tire knotted to the willow tree on the bank.

Lounging in the grass, they chat about work and their plans for the summer while they wait for the heat of the sun to dry them off. When Emma's stomach growls loudly, she reaches for her jeans and tugs them back on, suggesting that they start making their way back to the house for dinner.

Their timing couldn't be better; they return the horses to their stalls just as Killian is mixing up grain and Belle insists that they all help him with bringing in the remaining horses.

Killian is quiet around her friends, almost shy as he speaks, scratching behind his ear (a nervous tic that she happens to find ridiculously adorable). "It's quite all right ladies; I can manage on my own."

"It's really no trouble," Belle confirms.

"We're helping you," Emma states firmly.

"May as well accept it. Blondie here is a stubborn one," Ruby adds, laughing.

Killian looks slightly overwhelmed and Emma just grins at him, tugging the second lead rope from his left hand. "Come on, cowboy," she says lightly, bumping her shoulder against his as she heads out the door.

With the horses inside, Mary-Margaret calls to them from the yard beside the house. "Dinner will be ready soon kids, come grab a seat!"

Emma can't help but roll her eyes, it's like she's 13 all over again. Her mother is ridiculous, but god does she love her.

David is standing at the barbecue grilling up a variety of meat and Emma takes a peak, her mouth watering (she sees sausage and steak and kabobs with chicken and peppers).

"Smells great Dad," she tells him, leaning over his shoulder.

"Sure does Mr. Nolan," Ruby agrees.

"You can call me David, Ruby," her dad laughs. "Mr. Nolan is a tad formal and despite my lovely wife calling you as such, you aren't kids anymore."

"Well then _Daaaavid_," Ruby drawls playfully, "dinner smells wonderful!"

Belle nods her concurrence and takes a seat at the large hexagonal picnic table with Ruby.

The table is covered with a blue and white plaid cloth and her mother returns from the garden, placing a handful of flowers in the vase at its centre.

"Emma, can you grab Killian and come help me bring out the rest of the food from the kitchen?" Mary-Margaret requests politely.

"Yup, we'll be there in a sec, Mom," she says, spying Killian lounging in the grass over by the fire pit with Duke half-seated on his lap.

She walks over to him and reaches down to pet Duke, who thumps his tail happily against the ground.

"You don't have to hang out over here all by yourself," she tells Killian, "you know that right?"

Killian shrugs his shoulders and gives a noncommittal grunt. "Didn't want to intrude on your time with your friends, love."

"You wouldn't be," she tells him honestly. She's already spent hours alone with Ruby and Belle catching up, gossiping, and giggling over sordid topics; dinner and the bonfire afterwards are meant to be a group affair and she doesn't want him being left out. She gets the feeling he's a bit of a loner and that he probably doesn't have many friends. "Besides, you're my friend too," she adds.

"I am?" he asks. The look on his face is more than a little shocked and that makes her sad.

"Of course you are, stupid," she grins warmly and offers her hand to help him up, "now come on, Mom wants our help bringing stuff out."

He pushes Duke from his lap and takes her hand, allowing her to tug him to his feet (if she happens to hold the contact for a second or two longer than necessary, that's no one's business but her own).

He's watching her as they walk to the house, looking puzzled, like there's something he wants to say.

"Did you go swimming?" he finally asks as they climb the steps to the porch.

Emma nods. "How could you tell?"

He reaches out quickly, fingering the hair that tumbles over her shoulder for a second before dropping his hand back to his side. "Your hair, it wasn't this curly in the morning," he points out.

Self-consciously she combs her fingers through the ends. She'd taken her hair out of the ponytail after swimming to let it dry and now it's a tangled mess, wild and wind-whipped from humidity and the ride home.

"There's a great swimming pond about half an hour west of the cabins," she tells him, hand unmoving on the door handle as they linger on the porch, facing each other.

"Maybe you can show me where it is one of these days?" Killian requests. "It's been a while since I've gone swimming."

For a split second she sees something akin to grief and sadness flicker in his blue eyes, but it's fleeting and is so quickly replaced by an easy smile that she wonders if maybe she didn't imagine it all together.

"I can show you on Monday; we'll pass right by it on our way up to the tepees."

Killian nods and Emma realizes that her mother is still waiting on them to help with dinner, so she pulls the door open, ushering him in ahead of her (it's about time she held a door open for him; she'll be damned if he gets to be the chivalrous one all the time).

Mary-Margaret hands Emma a stack of dishes, napkins, and cutlery, balancing a leafy salad on top of it all. She gets Killian to grab the cooler filled with drinks, and follows them out the door, potato salad in one hand, macaroni salad in the other.

Emma helps her mother set the table and Killian asks what everyone would like to drink; fetching soda for Mary-Margaret and Belle (she's never been a big drinker), beer for everyone else.

Popping the cap from the chilled bottle, Emma slides into the empty seat between Ruby and Killian before holding up her beer.

"To friends," she makes sure to look Killian's way when she says it, "and fresh starts!" she toasts.

Killian seems more relaxed now, and he smiles when Duke crawls under the table to curl up as his feet and Emma is still amazed by how much Duke seems to adore him; the old dog follows him around like a faithful shadow in the mornings while he works, simply thrilled to be by his side. It's a wonder Duke hasn't abandoned his bed in the hall outside her parent's bedroom in favour of sleeping with Killian in the apartment.

"So Killian," Ruby starts, "Emma says you're from Ireland. What on earth brought you half way around the world to end up working on a ranch out here in the middle of nowhere?"

It's a question that Emma hasn't bothered to ask him yet and she's curious to hear the answer, but Killian's expression changes quickly, his smile faltering as he tenses beside her, and Emma knows that face, she herself has made it countless times in her life (plus at least a dozen in the last few days). She knows that it means the answer is complicated or painful or unpleasant (or all of the above), and that talking about it is not high on his list of priorities.

Belle seems to notice his discomfort as well, but Ruby, bless her heart, can be a bit of a brick wall when it comes to emotions and subtlety, and she seems to be completely oblivious to the awkward silence settling over the table. Emma wants to say something, to cover for him so that he doesn't have to answer, but she has no idea how to redirect the conversation without drawing even more attention to his already blatant distress.

After several tense seconds, Killian exhales and shrugs. "Just needed a change of scenery, I suppose."

"Well, scenery is one thing we've got in abundance out here," Ruby states, apparently content to accept Killian's rather vague answer. "If rocks and trees are your thing, that is."

"Aye, I've found myself to be quite partial to them," Killian says, quickly recovering from whatever memory had so darkly clouded his handsome features.

David chooses that moment to bring the large tray of cooked meat over to the table, setting it down and taking a seat next to Killian, leaving Mary-Margaret to sit beside Belle.

"All right folks," her father says, reaching out with his fork to spear a sausage, "dig in!"

Conversation during the meal (thankfully) seems to avoid Emma's love life (the complete and total disaster that it is) and Killian's origins (whatever they may be), and for that she is unbelievably grateful. Instead, talk focuses on Ruby's dog grooming business (it's doing really well - despite the small population of the town, most people own dogs and are happy to send them Ruby's way to be bathed, brushed, and clipped - she's even thinking of starting obedience classes in the fall). Belle has been promoted at the library and now oversees its daily activities, frequently coordinating with Mary-Margaret and the other school teachers to provide books and reading sessions for their classes.

Living in the city for so long, she'd forgotten what it was like to experience the tight-knit community of a small town; almost everyone knows everyone, and while (for the most part) they're good people, gossip has a tendency to spread like wildfire (your business can very quickly become everyone's business). It's the reason Emma hasn't wanted to make a trip into town yet.

David talks about some of his long time lesson students and the local horse shows they plan on attending this summer, and Mary-Margaret gushes about the Caribbean cruise she and David have wanted to take for years; one they'll finally be able to go on now that Emma and Killian are around to look after the ranch in their absence.

It's nice, _really_ nice, sitting here with friends and family at the brink of summer, enjoying good food and easy company beneath the cloudless evening sky. Her parents are absolutely thrilled to have her living at home again; they've welcomed her back with open arms and don't seem to hold her extended absence against her in the slightest.

Coming home (leaving her life in the city); it's probably the wisest decision she's made in years. It's been less than a week, only five days, and already she feels at ease, fulfilled (like she has a purpose). She's still got a long way to go before her heart is whole, but just being out here in the fresh air (free from city smog and vehicle exhaust), working with horses again, surrounded by nature and good, honest people, it's already helping.

"Emma."

The sound of her name brings her back to the present; it was her mother that spoke.

"Yeah?" she says, wondering what she missed. This reflective side of her persona she seems to have unearthed is still proving rather detrimental to her listening skills.

"Let's get this messed cleaned up," her mother suggests, already gathering the plates and stacking them with the utensils on top before turning to address David and Killian, "I trust you boys can get the fire started without our assistance?"

Killian and her father share an amused look.

"What do you think, Dave?" Killian inquires, lifting an eyebrow.

"Oh I think two skilled outdoorsmen such as ourselves should be able to set a few logs on fire," he replies, standing and collecting the empty beer bottles, settling them in the case beside the cooler. "Want a refill?"

Killian nods, standing as well, settling his hand on her bare shoulder for a split second (it's warm – calloused fingers rough against her skin and she shivers involuntary) to balance himself as he steps over the seat of the picnic table. "Thank you, mate," he says accepting the bottle from David.

They wander over to the fire pit (laughing as they discuss something she can't make out) and Emma winces when Duke bangs his head on the seat of the picnic table in his haste to follow his two favourite men. She shakes her head. _Crazy dog_.

Ruby and Belle have already helped her mother clear the table, so Emma grabs the vase of bright marigolds and pastel forget-me-nots, cradling it carefully in the crook of her elbow so she can fold up the tablecloth and bring it inside.

She sets the flowers on the kitchen table and takes the tablecloth to the laundry room, tossing it in the washer before heading back to the kitchen. Her friends and her mother have the dishes handled so she moves to the pantry, poking through the shelves, pulling out a bag of marshmallows and a box of graham crackers.

"Hey Mom?" she calls, "is there chocolate in here somewhere?"

"Third shelf, on the left next to the recipe books!"

(Of course her mother would know exactly where everything is located at a moment's notice. Sometimes Emma wishes she had inherited her mother's organizational skills.)

She pulls out the family pack of Hershey's milk-chocolate bars. "Found it!"

Perfect. If they're having a bonfire, they need to make s'mores. It's something she hasn't done in far too long.

Shoving the items in a spare plastic bag, she makes a quick trip to the guest room (technically it's her room now) to grab a sweater (the day had been hot, but a cool breeze had blown in over dinner). She grabs extras sweaters for Ruby and Belle as well before heading back to the kitchen.

When they rejoin her father and Killian outside, the fire is large and burning brightly, tall flames licking upwards, reaching for the twilit heavens, a mesmerizing dance of oxygen and fuel meeting in a golden inferno.

Her father looks proud as he addresses her mother. "Is the fire big enough for you, dear?"

"I've seen bigger," her mother comments, feigning unimpressed.

Emma laughs. That may be true, but this bonfire is actually gigantic (it's probably a good thing the garden hose is coiled only several yards from where they sit), her father and Killian definitely got a little carried away. It's going to be a long while before the flames die down enough to expose a calm bed of glowing embers ideal for roasting marshmallows.

Her parents take one of the log benches, and Belle and Ruby share another, leaving her to once again sit beside Killian. She's not complaining, but she suspects her friends have gone and done it intentionally (it's likely Ruby is to blame).

She smiles at Killian as she takes a seat and he grins back, nursing his beer, reclined against the bench with ankles crossed and blue flannel unbuttoned over his t-shirt, looking for all the world like he belongs here on their farm, relaxing with her friends and family around the fire as the stars slowly twinkle into view.

She settles the bag of s'mores fixings on the bench between them (a figurative barrier) because he looks way too good, and Ruby (damn her) has put thoughts in her head that she shouldn't be having, because he's genuinely a nice guy and he's her friend and she doesn't want to be that girl who craves reassurance (a confidence boost) so badly that she sleeps with the first hot guy she sees just days after a messy break up.

Not that she's against that sort of thing (rebound sex), it has its place she's sure, but she's only ever been with Neal, and physical intimacy isn't something she takes lightly (or emotional intimacy for that matter).

Allowing herself to be drawn back into the flow of conversation, Emma suggests that they choose a game to play while they wait for the fire to die down enough to make s'mores (she needs something safe to focus on).

"How about the winking assassin?" her mother recommends.

"The winking assassin?" Killian repeats, looking confused. "I'm afraid you'll have to explain that one to me."

It's a silly little game they used to play all the time when she was young; extremely amusing and is meant to be carried out during the course of regular conversation.

"It's quite simple really," Mary-Margaret says. "We'll deem me the '_Godfather'._ Everyone closes their eyes and I wander around the fire several times, tapping one person on the shoulder, that makes them the assassin; then when I take a seat again, I tell everyone to open their eyes."

Emma takes over explaining for her mother. "The person she taps on the shoulder now has to secretly _'kill'_ people one at a time by winking at them. Once you've been winked at, you have to play dead. The idea is for the assassin to be discrete and sneaky; you only want the person you're winking at to see it. If someone else that you weren't winking at catches you, they call you on it and end the game."

Emma demonstrates by winking noticeably at her father (who slumps dramatically in his chair, clutching his chest), and Ruby calls her out on it.

Killian chuckles. "All right love, I think I get the picture."

"It's not as easy as it sounds," she warns.

"And how might one be rewarded should they successfully assassinate everyone without being caught?" Killian asks, standing and collecting everyone's empty beer bottles.

"Their name on the honorary plaque of course," she says, laughing at the amused grin on Killian's face.

It's really not much more than a plank of wood (carved and brightly painted) that she made when she was 7.

Emma looks at her mother. "Do we still have that?"

"On the wall in the office," her mother answers, "though I'm not sure why I allowed your father to put it up, I'm the only member of this family who hasn't managed to get their name on it."

"That's because every time you're chosen as the assassin you break into a fit of giggles and give yourself away," David insists and they all share another laugh.

Killian heads over to the cooler. "Anyone need a refill?"

"I'll take one," Emma and her father call at the same time.

"Nothing for you Ruby?"

"Nah, I'm good. Have an early grooming appointment in the morning so I've gotta head home in a couple hours."

"Belle? Mary-Margaret?"

Both ladies shake their head, so Killian returns, handing drinks to her and David.

The sky is dark now; cloudless, moonless, but glittering with starlight. A cool breeze stokes the flames; sparks and ash and smoke floating upwards, swirling on an invisible current. The temperature is a little cool for early June, but the fire is almost enough to make her forget the chill at her back.

A_lmost enough_.

She wants something more (more than flames and the soft wool of her sweater); she wants the feel of arms wrapping around her, the heat of another body at her back. But she doesn't have that, not anymore – the innocent intimacy of sharing body heat.

And it's not her mind that craves it exactly. She's not naive enough to think or want or hope that things could have worked out between her and Neal. She doesn't want him back. How could she after that betrayal? The idea of him even touching her now is repulsive and she's glad she left; hopes that she'll never have to see him again.

It's not her mind that necessarily longs for the simple touches (like hand holding and hugs, the casual brush of fingers; touches that one tends to take for granted after years in a relationship), it's her body, her skin - there's muscle memory there, from years of acts as natural as breathing (reaching out, having someone reach back). It's an internal struggle, a clash of nerves and impulses, electricity short circuiting as her unconscious and conscious minds battle. It's definitely an adjustment; this being single again after spending nearly a third of her life in a relationship.

She almost drops her beer when Killian's fingers brush against her own, startling her from her introspection.

"You all right, love?" he asks softly, quietly so that only she can hear him. Concern clouds his features.

She nods, smiling falsely - in what passes for a poor attempt at proving she's okay, if the knowing, but accepting (he doesn't press the issue) look he gives her is any indication.

It's more than a little bit terrifying how easily he can read her.

Turning, she swallows several mouthfuls of her beer before addressing her mother. "Since we all know you're absolutely terrible at being the assassin Mom, how about you choose?"

Mary-Margaret stands and everyone closes their eyes. Emma can hear the rustle of feet shuffling through grass, the light breeze as her mother passes her by, once, twice, and a third time in the opposite direction.

"Okay, you can all open your eyes!" her mother says, seated again beside her father.

They strike up another game to keep conversation flowing and everyone sufficiently distracted. It's one her mother has always enjoyed playing with her students in class; she has a hat (yes an actual worn black top hat) with the letters of the alphabet in it (re-purposed scrabble tiles). The idea is to draw a letter, then in 30 seconds, say as many words that begin with that letter as you can. Points are tallied when the entire alphabet is used up and the person with the highest score wins.

The night is filled with laughter and darting eyes as everyone tries their hardest to watch everyone else while frantically spitting out long lists of words. Her father gets killed off first, followed by her mother, and Emma glances around, watching closely after her _very_ brief turn at the letter game (drawing 'x' doesn't offer up many options).

She finally catches Ruby subtly wink at Belle.

"Ruby's the assassin!" she calls out laughing.

"Damn it Emma!"

They all close their eyes again and this time David (because he was first to die) gets to pick the assassin. They continue on with the letter game and Emma breaks out the marshmallows now that the fire has died down. She keeps a close watch, alternating her gaze between the marshmallows at the end of her stick (as she makes and hands out s'mores) and the group around the camp fire, but for the longest time nothing happens, no one slumps and plays dead, and she grows lax in her observation.

Digging through the bag, she tears open another bar of chocolate, fighting with the stubborn wrapper before balancing it and several graham crackers on the bench between her and Killian. When she looks up, Belle, Ruby, and her parents are all sprawled in their seats dramatically.

_Damn. _

Killian's good.

It's an old trick her father used to use; lull everyone into a false sense security, wait, then wait some more. Let everyone get distracted, forget just a little bit, then take them all out in quick succession - rapid fire.

It doesn't escape her that he saved her for last.

She turns slowly to face him, shaking her head in disbelief, a witty comment laying in wait on her tongue (something about beginners luck), but Killian winks mischievously at her, grinning like the fucking cat that ate the canary, and she completely and totally forgets what she was going to say.

It's just a game, and it's just a wink, but her heart may or may not (_it definitely does_) stutter briefly in her chest.

"I suppose this means my namesake shall join yours upon that honorary plaque?" His voice is smug and his smile is too, but she manages to resist smacking him (only because she knows the ass would probably enjoy it).

"I guess it does," she admits begrudgingly, a small smile playing at her lips.

Her father stands then, moving to clap Killian on the shoulder. "A man after my own heart," he says, chuckling. "What you just pulled there, that's my signature move."

David presses a kiss to the crown of her head and nods toward Ruby and Belle. "All right kids, I'll tuck the horses in for the night, then it's off to bed for this old man."

Killian moves to protest, probably to insist that it's his job and David shouldn't have to do it, but her father just waves him off.

Her mother makes to join him after tallying up the scores for the letter game (Killian won that too). "It was so nice seeing you Ruby," she says, "and Belle, I'll see you again on Tuesday when I bring the class by the library."

Goodbyes and hugs are exchanged and before long her parents are heading off in the dark toward the barn. Emma grabs a couple more beers, handing one to Killian (he looks quite comfortable where he is and he fetched hers last time) before throwing several more logs on the fire.

Ruby and Belle stay for a while longer and they end up discussing summer plans again. Ruby informs them that she's planning to get her 5th tattoo (she pulls out her phone to show them a picture – it's a feathered dream catcher with a howling wolf in the centre) at the beginning of July for her birthday, and that both Emma and Killian absolutely _have_ to come to her party.

While they're on the topic of birthdays, Ruby asks and Emma learns that Killian is 28 and that his birthday was back in April (the 17th) and that her mother insisted on baking him a cake (with candles and ice cream) despite his protests. Ruby asks several more questions: if he went to college (he did – he has a bachelor of arts in psychology – though he's never used it), if he has a girlfriend (he doesn't and Emma rolls her eyes, because really Ruby, can you be any more obvious?), and what other hobbies he has apart from horseback riding (he plays guitar and used to enjoy sailing).

Emma can't help but roll her eyes yet again, because _seriously_? Can the guy get any more perfect? There has got to be something wrong with him. Maybe he leaves the toilet seat up and forgets to replace the toilet paper, or leaves his dirty clothes all over the floor, or snores like a freight train. Not that any of that should matter to her, because he's just a friend and they are definitely not living or sleeping together.

She has no place in her broken heart for anything more.

Eventually Ruby and Belle decide it's time to leave and Emma walks them to Ruby's car, hugging them in turn and promising that tomorrow she will actually charge her phone and turn it back on (she thinks she might unlock it and ask her mother to delete all traces of Neal from the device so that she doesn't have to do it herself and face seeing any texts or missed calls or voice-mails).

When the taillights of Ruby's old red Camaro disappear past the curve of the driveway, Emma heads back to the fire pit where Killian sits roasting a marshmallow. He pulls the sticky-sweet confection from the stick and pops it into his mouth, licking his fingers as she reclaims her seat next to him. The other benches are available now, but it seems a little silly to sit somewhere else when this is where she's been most of the evening.

Sliding a marshmallow onto the end of her own stick, she leans forward, rotating it slowly over the glowing coals. "Sorry that Ruby was so nosy," she apologises without looking at him, "she can be a bit much sometimes."

In the periphery of her vision, Killian leans forward, mirroring her position. "It's quite all right love; it was nice meeting your friends." He pokes at the logs with his stick. "As you might have guessed, I don't have many of my own. At least not around here. "

"You've got me," she reminds him, sneaking a glance sideways.

"Aye, that I do."

"And I'm happy to share my friends," she adds.

Killian chuckles. "Very generous of you."

It's probably quite late, but it's been ages since she's just sat and watched the play of flames atop wood, since she's taken the time to tilt her head back and study the stars, so she doesn't move to leave just yet. Silence settles over them as they quietly wait for the fire to die down, the occasional hoot of an owl and the distant call of wolves sounding in the dark, mixing with the soothing crackle, the hiss and sizzling pop of fire consuming fuel.

She's not sure how long they sit there, but when Emma yawns, Killian looks at his watch. "It's half past midnight."

He stands and grabs the hose to douse the remaining flames and she packs the empty wrappers back into the grocery bag.

She lets him walk her to the door of the house (he does it every night after they check on the horses and she's given up trying to stop him; it's possible he might be just as stubborn as she is, and even though it's ridiculously old-fashioned, it's actually pretty sweet). He bids her goodnight with a smile and she watches from the porch as he crosses the driveway to the garage. She tells herself it's only to make sure he doesn't get eaten by some big bad wolf (even though that's hardly likely in the maybe 200 feet from building to building).

When he's safely inside, she closes the door behind her and tosses the bag of marshmallows and garbage on the kitchen table to deal with in the morning, heading to her room.

She changes quickly and falls into bed, surrounded by soft blankets, allowing the scent of campfire that clings to her hair (thick and intoxicating, a comforting mixture of musky smoke and rugged pine) to lull her into a deep and restful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Time for a trip up to the tepees!

I've made another photo manip to go with this story (Killian and Emma on horseback!) if you'd like to see it, head over to my tumblr to check it out (oubliette14 . tumblr).

Thank you once again for all the reviews, favourites, and follows. Each and every single one means so much to me. I love receiving feedback and I make a point of replying to each review I get (sometimes, if you're lucky, I give out little hints as to what comes next).

* * *

First thing Sunday morning she charges her phone and turns it back on. Then all by herself – because she's an adult _goddamnit_ (and running to mommy to fix her problems seems too childish in the light of day), she deletes all traces of Neal from the device as quickly as possible, refusing to read any of the texts or listen to the voicemails.

There's a certain sense of satisfaction when she finally presses the button to block his number and delete him from her contacts.

With that less than pleasant task completed, she shoots off a quick message to both Belle and Ruby, letting her friends know that she's reachable by text again. Belle replies instantly with a smiley-face emoticon, and minutes later, as she's spooning cereal into her mouth at the kitchen table, Ruby replies: (_Have fun with that hunk-o-man on your romantic camping trip tomorrow! Remember: save a horse, ride a cowboy! ;) ;) ;) xoxoxo). _

She almost chokes on her mouthful of cheerios, glad no one is present to see the milk dribbling down her chin.

When she texts Ruby back, telling her to behave, all she gets in response is several more winking faces.

The rest of the day is relatively quiet. The morning and most of the afternoon are spent with her mother, putting the finishing touches on the guest cabins – stocking fresh linens, making beds, dusting, and vacuuming. It's nice to catch up when it's just the two of them alone, gossiping about all that's happened in town since the last time she was home. Regina, the mayor (a perpetual spinster), is finally dating (some lumberjack named Robin), and Pongo (Mr. Hopper's Dalmatian) got loose a couple months ago and knocked up Ashley Boyd's Husky; puppies are expected any day now.

When dinner rolls around Killian joins them once again at her father's insistence, and afterwards while her parents do the dishes, she sits with him at the kitchen table, making a list of everything they'll need to pack for their trip to the tepees in the morning. Her father has offered to do the barn chores so that they can get an early start on what will surely be a long ride through the wilderness on trails that have not been travelled for the better part of 8 months.

It's strange; how remarkably normal this is – the four of them here in the kitchen, cleaning up, making lists, discussing business. She has to admit, she could get used to it.

And that scares her.

Monday morning arrives, hot and unbearably humid, the air clings to her like a wet blanket, nearly suffocating, but impossible to peel off. She's covered in a fine sheen of sweat even though she's yet to do much more than get dressed, but she shoves layers and a leather jacket into her backpack anyway, slinging it over her shoulder so she can pull on her boots as she takes a bite of the protein bar in her hand. As much as she hates to, she skips the coffee and sticks to water, wanting to be well hydrated in this heat.

Her bag contains some extra clothing, a first aid kit, a canteen, water purification tablets, a pocket knife, weatherproof matches and fire starting sticks, as well as a variety of easily transported foods (protein bars, granola bars, trail mix, and some dried banana and apple chips).

She grabs another bag hanging by the door (filled with canned beans and alphagetti), before pushing out into the hot morning sun and heading to the barn, Duke trailing at her heels. Her mother has already left for work and she finds her father and Killian in the barn, having just finished turning out the horses.

Two large bay geldings remain in their stalls (Rock and Boulder – aptly named, surefooted horses, easily able to carry the weight of both a rider and extra supplies over uneven terrain). Killian's pack already sits on the ground next to the other supplies, so she deposits hers there as well, greeting the men with a smile.

"Got everything packed?" her father asks, and she can tell he's just itching to rifle through their bags and double check. He's almost as bad as her mother sometimes.

"Yessssss Dad."

"You have the radios?"

She rolls her eyes and smiles when Killian chuckles silently behind her father. "I was about to go grab them."

Slipping into the office she pulls two radios and a gun from the cabinet, grabbing some extra ammo to throw in a pack just in case. By the time she re-emerges from the small room, Killian has pulled the horses from the stalls and has the saddles resting against the wall, his arms full of saddle bag attachments.

She clips one radio to her own belt. "Here ya go," she says, reaching out to secure the other to the waist of his jeans, not bothering to wait for him to empty his hands.

As they tack up the horses, packing their supplies and tools into the saddle bags, her father runs a verbal inventory, making sure that they have what they need, his voice carrying through the barn as he cleans out the stalls. They've got quite a bit of stuff; it's only an overnight trip, but there's likely repairs that need made, and when travelling as far out as they are, it's always better to be prepared.

By the time they're ready to go, she's sweating again, even more than before, and she takes comfort in the fact that Killian also appears to be equally drenched. She pauses to rub sunscreen into her exposed skin, tossing the bottle his way before tugging her baseball cap back on and ensuring that she packed the bug spray.

Summer on a horse ranch – sweat and sunscreen, dirt and horse, insect repellent and smoky campfire musk; they're the scents of her childhood, unappealing to many, but she fucking loves it.

"You all set, love?" Killian tucks the sunscreen into his pack and shoulders the bag.

Tugging on the straps of her own bag, she nods, silently cursing the sweat already forming low on her back beneath the additional layer of gear. "We're heading out now, Dad," she calls. "I'll radio you when we get there to check in."

David emerges from a stall. "Be safe peanut," he hugs her and turns to Killian. "You too, Killian. Take care of my little girl."

She scoffs and lightly punches her father in the arm. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." It's insulting that he would think otherwise.

"Fine then," David harrumphs. "Killian, you just make sure to watch her back. It's rough terrain out there."

"Aye, I will."

Taking one last look at their supplies, Emma leads Boulder out of the barn to mount. Killian follows moments later, pulling his baseball cap down to shield his eyes from the bright sun.

They do have actual cowboy hats around the barn, but in the hot weather Emma prefers a ventilated baseball cap over the more traditional western attire. It would appear Killian does too.

Following the driveway up to the cabins, they trek west through forests and fields, marking their path with reflective orange ribbon, replacing last year's faded strips. She knows the way to the tepees well, but it's always handy to have the ribbons to fall back on.

They pass the swimming pond and she points out the tranquil oasis, shaded by the swaying branches of a towering willow tree. It's disgustingly hot out and she'd love to stop for a swim, but they still have a lot of ground to cover and really should stay on schedule. There's also the small fact that watching Killian strip down to his boxers (or maybe briefs?) for a swim in the pond is very likely a recipe for disaster.

She leads the way through another patch of overgrown forest, ducking branches when she can, pushing them out of the way when she can't, being careful not to let them swing back and hit Killian in the face (she's had it happen to her a few too many times over the years, and she knows a face full of bark and leaves is never pleasant). The ground is uneven with bulging roots and rocks and fallen logs, but the horses pick their way over the rough ground with practiced ease.

Killian is quiet as they travel, but she doesn't mind – there are plenty of other sounds to fill the silence. The chirp and song and twitter of birds hidden amongst pine needles, in thickets of hemlock, mixes with the rustle of birch leaves as a warm breeze meanders through the trees. The hypnotic buzz of June-bugs is permeated by the occasional snort from the horses and the steady fall of hoof beats against the forest floor. The static of rushing water soon joins the symphony as they approach the pebbled shore of a flowing river.

Carefully they pick their way through the waterway, crossing where the current is weak and the water just barely skims the horse's bellies. The opposite shore gives way to more forest, and rougher terrain – several more small creeks and rivers leading to narrow paths up and down steep rocky inclines.

The sun lounges high and bright in the cerulean afternoon sky when they finally break through the last stretch of forest to the clearing where the tepees are located. She slides from the horse, frowning at the uncomfortable tug of sweaty denim against her thighs, and pulls the radio from her belt to contact her father. "We're here now, Dad."

The radio crackles in response and the quality isn't great in the shadow of the mountain, but it's enough that she can hear her father's reply. "All right, let me know in the morning when the two of you head back. Love you, princess."

"Love you too, Dad."

They un-tack the horses quickly, releasing them into the large corral before dumping the saddles and their supplies just outside the nearest tepee. She hands Killian a stainless-steel bucket from inside the shelter so he can fetch water for the horses from the nearby river and he gives her a funny look when she tosses his backpack in alongside her own. They could sleep in separate tepees this time; there are three of them after all, but in the future when they bring guests up here, they're going to be sharing, so she figures why delay the inevitable? Besides, it's not like they're sharing a bed (there aren't any beds up here to share), they'll be in separate sleeping bags on opposite sides of a shelter big enough to sleep 5.

While Killian fills the water trough for the horses, she lugs the saddles and bridles into the shelter; tucking them up against the side out of the way before unfurling the two padded bedrolls on either side of the tepee (she'll be tired later and knows she won't want to do it then). She sits Killian's bag on top of his and does the same with her own, unearthing the snacks and grabbing her canteen, drinking greedily from it.

"The horses are all settled in," Killian tells her, returning to the tepee with a full bucket of water.

She tosses a water purification tablet into the bucket and hands him a lid to cover it. "Thanks, how did the fence look?"

"Not too bad, the run-in could use a little love though."

She nods, she'd noticed that too; the large three sided shed has definitely seen better days. "Let's have a snack first," she suggests.

In the centre of the grass clearing is a fire pit surrounded by several large logs. Their tepee and the horse's enclosure occupy the side of the glade closest to the river, and the other side houses the remaining two tepees and a small wood storage shed. She decided against sitting near the fire pit and opts instead for settling down in the shade beneath a cluster of Douglas maples, removing her baseball cap so she can retie her ponytail into a tight bun.

Killian hunkers down next to her and she watches the repeated bob of his Adam's apple as he drains his canteen. When he finishes, he tugs off his hat, wiping at the sweat on his forehead, and she can't help but laugh. His hair is a disaster, pressed flat against his head in some places and sticking up wildly in others.

Without really thinking, she reaches out and ruffles her fingers through his damp locks, trying to restore some semblance of order.

He just looks at her and raises an eyebrow as if to say '_and what exactly do you think you're doing?_'

She drops her hand as if scalded and shrugs. "I was trying to fix your hair, but I'm pretty sure nothing short of a shower is going to be much help."

Killian runs his own hand through it and only succeeds in making a further mess of it. It's actually pretty cute, but she won't tell him that, so instead she opens the trail mix, takes a handful, and offers the bag to him.

After a short rest, they get started nailing cedar boards back into place on the shed, laughing when the geldings follow them around, watching curiously and getting in the way as they work. Later Killian gathers fallen trees and branches from the surrounding forest, sawing and chopping to replenish the dwindling supply in the woodshed while she appoints herself the rather tedious task of patching tears in the tepees with a large needle and heavy-duty thread.

When she stabs herself in the finger for the third time, she decides that she should probably concentrate more on stitching and less on the way Killian's sweat soaked t-shirt clings to the muscles of his shoulders.

She pricks herself at least four more times.

By the time they finish piling the chopped wood in the shed, her stomach is growling insistently and the temperature has started to drop with the sinking sun. A cool wind blows in from the north and she ducks into the tepee to change into a clean t-shirt, tugging a hoodie over top to ward off the chill.

She snacks on a granola bar and gets the fire started while Killian changes, and when he emerges from the tepee, he brings over the folding campfire grill, the cooking supplies and a couple cans of alphagetti.

"Where's your canteen, love?" he asks when his hands are empty. "I'll fill it up for you."

She retrieves it from the ground beside the log she sits on and tosses it to him. "Thanks, Killian."

It takes a while for the logs to burn down, but when she has a thick bed of hot coals to cook over, she folds out the grill and empties the cans of tomato flavoured pasta into a pot to heat. It's not a fancy meal by any means, but they had so much else to carry with them on this trip that there wasn't much room left for more desirable cuisine. They'll eat better when it comes time to bring clients out here. She can't wait until August rolls around, bringing with it fresh crops of sweet corn – ideally roasted in water-soaked husks on the grill.

Mosquitoes arrive with approaching twilight, forcing Emma to run into the tepee to find the insect repellent. It's the one aspect of summer she's never been overly fond of (the little bloodsucking demons have always preferred her to almost everyone else, not at all deterred by the fact that she's wearing jeans and a sweater). Killian laughs at her plight and she glares at him as she scratches furiously at the back of her knees.

_So not fucking fair_.

After they eat Emma grabs her jacket and a lantern and throws more fuel on the fire while Killian fetches a second pail of water to boil so he can wash the dishes. The horses munch happily on the long grass in the paddock, standing close together, facing opposite directions, their tails swishing constantly to keep pestering insects at bay.

She sinks down to sit cross-legged in front of the bonfire with the log at her back, looking skyward. Clouds have filtered into the distant sky throughout the evening, and as the sun sinks behind the trees, it does so in a spectacular show of neon orange and effervescent gold, dandelion fluff careening through the clearing on a crisp breeze.

When the sky is dark and there's no hint of daylight remaining in its inky canvass, she turns to Killian. "So what did bring you out here Killian Jones? I get the feeling you didn't really want to answer the other night, and if you still don't, that's cool, I'm just curious."

He's quiet for a moment, staring intently at the fire and poking at the glowing embers with a stick. When he looks up there's something of a challenge in his eyes.

"Quid pro quo, love," he says, fixing her with an expectant look, "if you expect me to share, I shall expect the same of you."

She's on the verge of telling him to forget it, that it doesn't really matter (because offering up a piece of herself – opening up to anyone, especially someone she's only known for a week, isn't something she does, _ever_), but something stops her, something she can't put words to, it's just a gut feeling, but it stops the defensive retort from slipping past her lips.

She thinks long and hard about it, twisting the lid on her canteen, open and closed, open and closed, over and over again. Really it's only fair that she should share something of herself in return; that's how conversation and getting to know someone works after all, and as much as she'd like to stay hidden away behind her walls with her heartache and secrets, something about this man draws her out. She wants to learn more about him, and if she has to expose a bit of herself to do so, well then apparently she's willing.

She doesn't know if he wants to go first or if she should, but she decides that in a show of good faith, she'll begin.

"I broke up with my boyfriend of seven years," she tells him hesitantly.

She could just leave it at that, it's the truth after all, the reason she's back home, but she suspects that unless she's content with an equally vague answer from him, she'd better offer up a little more.

"We started dating in high school, when I was 16, and I fell for him, hard and fast. I'd always been the tomboy, the ugly duckling; he was the first guy to ever pay any attention to me and it changed me, I let it change me I guess, or I changed for him," she tells him with a sigh. "I don't even know."

Killian listens intently, watching her in the light of the fire and she scuffs at the dirt with the heel of her boot, trying to collect her thoughts and put them to words, lining them up in the correct order before unblocking the dam and allowing them to spill past her lips.

"I spent less and less time with the horses, stopped helping my parents around the ranch. By the time I graduated high school I was so ready to leave this place; get out of the little old hick-town and move away to a big city. So I applied to College in the States, got in on a scholarship, and we left; moved 15 hours away, and at the time even that didn't feel far enough."

Emma scoffs then, wondering how stupid she'd look if she gave herself a good hard slap in the face. _God she was an idiot_.

"I don't know why I wanted so badly to get as far away from home as possible. If someone were to have asked me to name a reason back then, I don't think I would have been able to. Now though, I'm pretty sure that I wanted it simply because Neal wanted it."

Groaning, she scrubs her hand over her face. Apparently she's going all out and getting a lot more reflective than she originally intended to. It strikes her as surreal that she's telling him all of this; that she's actually processing it and working through feelings that just this morning she was stubbornly trying to avoid.

It sucks, and she could just as easily close back up, laugh it all off and change the topic to something light, but she doesn't, because somehow telling Killian all of this is liberating, and with each small (but honest) truth she reveals, weight seems to lift from her chest, allowing her to breathe freer.

"Hold that thought, love," Killian says, standing abruptly and ducking into the tepee.

She hears the pull of a zipper and rustling for a moment before he rejoins her, plopping down onto the soft grass next to her, handing her a flask.

Unscrewing the lid, she brings it to her nose, testing the scent.

"Rum?" she asks, sniffing the flagon again. "You a closet alcoholic or something?" It's meant as a joke, but his expression darkens and suddenly it's not so funny.

She wants to apologise but she's not sure exactly what for; obviously she touched a nerve there, but it's still her turn to share, and she hopes that maybe if she's open enough, he'll be honest with her too.

"Oh why the hell not?" she mutters quietly (mostly to herself), tipping the flask to her lips and swallowing a generous mouthful. It burns going down and she coughs as she passes the flask back to him. He doesn't drink any, just lets it dangle loosely from his fingers.

_Now where was she?_

"I thought he was it for me; the love of my life," she admits. "We we're happy, or I thought we were. Maybe I only saw what I wanted to see; what was easy to see."

Tugging at the grass between her feet, she plucks a tall strand from the earth, squeezing it between her thumb and forefinger, pulling until the seed heads gather and fall from the stem, fluttering away in the chilly night air.

"I mean I up and left my entire life, my parents, my home, hell I left the country, all of it for him. So I guess it was easier to pretend that everything was good, because if it wasn't, then I'd given up everything for nothing."

She reaches for the flask again, pulling it from his fingers; the mouthful goes down smoothly this time.

"Turns out pretending is pretty fucking pointless. Last Monday the company I worked for went bankrupt and I lost my job. Then I went home and found Neal fucking the neighbour in our bed."

There. The ugly truth is out.

She breathes deeply, finally looking back up at Killian. Firelight flickers against the plains of his face and his eyes (molten blue-gold as they reflect the flames) are kind, understanding, but he doesn't look at her with pity and for that she's grateful. "So I'm back home, living with my parents, cause beneath all the anger and hate, I'm hurt and lost and have no freaking clue where my life is headed."

Handing the flask back to him, she tucks her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, feeling raw and exposed.

Killian takes the flask and screws the lid on, sitting it in the grass between them. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, covering her hand with his own, his thumb stroking along her knuckles. The contact is fleeting, there one breath, gone the next – goose bumps rising in its wake are the only evidence it even occurred.

He doesn't say anything else, just smiles sadly at her, quiet company in the night. He doesn't say the expected: that Neal's an ass (even though it's true) and tell her that she deserves better (even though she does), and it's nice, because she already knows all these things and really doesn't need the verbal conformation that implies she is an idiot for wasting years of her life on a jerk who was never worth her time.

They sit in silence for a long while, watching the flames, watching the stars, taking in the scents and sights and sounds of the dark, rugged wilderness surrounding them. Eventually Killian gets up to add more fuel to the fire and Emma contemplates the flask of rum still sitting in the grass between them, forgotten.

She wonders if Killian has forgotten his promise (well maybe not a promise exactly, more an unspoken agreement) to unearth his own demons. She should feel a little cheated – that she shared and he hasn't, but she doesn't, not really. She knows that despite his earlier offer of tit for tat, secrets are not currency, there is no simple equation to exchanging them, their value and weight are incalculable and bartering in such undefined riches is a fickle task.

Emma pulls up the hood of her sweater and tucks her hands into the sleeves of her grey leather jacket while she waits for the fresh wood on the fire to catch. The morning had been hot, but it's unseasonably chilly now; a cold front had blown in with the setting sun and she can feel the temperature continuing to plummet. Killian stirs the embers beneath the new logs, fanning the flames, and soon the fire is burning brightly again. He returns to sit next to her and she notices he's pulled on a leather jacket of his own over top of red and navy flannel.

Reaching into his shirt, he grabs the chain that hangs around his neck and pulls it over his head, thumb brushing over the tag before he hands it to her.

The metal is warm against her skin of her palm and she closes her chilled fingers around it for a moment before opening her hand and inspecting the engravings. It's a military dog tag of some sort and in the firelight she can make out a name - _Liam Jones_.

They've been quiet for so long that she startles slightly when Killian speaks.

"My brother was a member of the Royal Navy, but he didn't die while serving his country, I think it would have been easier if he had. Instead it was just an ordinary day in September - a freak accident that took his life," he starts, shaking his head, frowning as he stares at the fire.

Killian doesn't elaborate on the how and she doesn't ask him to. Dead is dead; the details hardly matter.

"He left behind a wife and 2 year old son, but he was the only real family I had left, and when he died I wound up spending most of my time at the bottom of a bottle. Lost my job, was evicted from my apartment and it wasn't until I spent a night behind bars, beaten and bloodied from a barroom brawl, that I finally sobered up enough to realize that Liam wouldn't have wanted me to live like that."

He picks up the flask, sloshing the liquid from side to side. "So most days now if I'm going to be drinking, I skip the hard stuff altogether and stick to a of couple beers." He twists the cap, opening it and taking a small sip before passing it to her. "Usually reserve the rum for nights when I can't sleep."

"I'm so sorry, Killian." She feels stupid saying it. She doesn't have much experience with death (she's only ever lost her Grandmother Ruth), but it's enough to know that saying you're sorry is a pretty pointless platitude. Death sucks, and telling someone that you're sorry for their loss is nothing but a trivial gesture.

She holds out the necklace and he takes it from her palm, placing it back around his neck.

"I got my life back together as best I could and tried to help Abigail with Colin, but I couldn't stay there, not when every little thing reminded me of Liam. So I terminated the lease on the new apartment, packed up what I wanted to keep and sold the rest. The next week I bought a plane ticket and flew half way across the bloody world to Calgary."

"What made you choose Canada?" she asks, curious.

"Liam and I always talked about seeing the Rockies." She passes the flask back to him, and after he swallows a second mouthful, he tightens the cap and sits it in the grass. "It seemed fitting that I should do so – honor him in a way, I suppose."

She nods, wishing she was better at this kind of stuff – heart to hearts – it's not something she does often and her repertoire of appropriate responses is severely lacking. He doesn't seem to be looking for a reply though and thankfully carries on without prompting.

"I had enough money saved up not to need a job for a while, but I arranged a work visa anyhow. Bought the Jeep for next to nothing and drove aimlessly into the Rockies."

Killian pokes at the fire, shifting a log, sending a column of sparks startling skyward.

"As luck would have it, the bloody contraption was on its last legs; died on the side of the road not 5 miles from your house. Your father found me and offered to tow it into town," he explains, fingers unconsciously tracing the engraved metal of his brother's dog tag. "One thing led to another and next I know, your mother was offering up a job and living quarters. I knew what I was running from, but had no earthy clue to where, so I accepted."

He looks away from the fire and his eyes settle on her as he shrugs. "Your parents are probably the kindest people I've ever met and this seemed like as good a place as any to stop and put down roots."

She smiles in agreement. "They're pretty great aren't they?"

"They are." He smiles sadly. "You're incredibly blessed, love."

Blessed: it's not a word she has ever associated with herself, but if she thinks about it, she really is. She's taken her parents for granted most of her life (even more so these last several years), never really appreciating them. It's pretty fucking horrible of her, and it's something she wants to change.

"What happened to your parents?" She gets the feeling it's another sad story and she's not sure if he'll even answer, but she asks anyway.

"My mother died when I was 5; leukemia, I don't remember much about her. Afterwards my father turned to the bottle and on my 12th birthday he just up and left, was gone when I woke up. A few weeks later he was found dead, his car wrapped around a tree, but by then Liam was of age and he looked after me as best he could."

_God_. She feels like an absolute ass for complaining about her love life. Her heartache is nothing compared to his.

In an impulsive move (so unlike her – because she doesn't do touchy-feely) she reaches out and takes his hand, linking their fingers together. She thinks that saying she's sorry again would cheapen the moment, and she doesn't want that, so she settles for contact instead as silence washes over them.

"Do you still keep in touch with her? Your sister-in-law?"

Up until now his hand has been still in her own, but as he answers, his thumb softly (so lightly that it almost tickles) brushes over the flesh at the base of her thumb.

"Aye, we try to Skype once a week and she's always sending me pictures of Colin." Killian reaches into his pocket with his free hand and pulls out his phone, swiping his thumb across the screen several times to select an album before handing it to her. "It's still oddly remarkable to think of myself as an uncle. To know that even though my brother is gone, a piece of him still lives on in that little boy."

She takes the phone, cradling it reverently in her hand as if it's a treasured heirloom, as if it's more than just a piece of plastic and metal and glass. The little boy in the picture is adorable; all dark unruly curls and bright blue eyes, smiling broadly as he clutches a stuffed hippo. She scrolls through the album, through dozens of pictures of the boy and his mother before finally stopping on the last one, studying it closely. Killian is seated on a chair with his nephew standing in his lap, reaching for the birthday cake that sits on the table. On the left is the woman she recognizes as Abigail and on the right is a man (it must be Liam – the resemblance is unmistakable). They're all smiling brightly, laughing at something unknown.

Blinking back the tears that suddenly threaten to blur her vision, she squeezes his hand and returns the phone. "They're beautiful," she says quietly. "Do you miss them?"

Killian looks at her and she could be imagining things, but his eyes look glassy in the soft firelight.

"At times, but it helps to know that Abigail has a big family, that they aren't alone. She understood why I left; has never once held it against me."

"She sounds like an amazing woman."

Killian nods, his fingers still linked loosely through hers and she can't remember the last time she held hands with someone for this long.

"She is. Stronger than I by far," he admits, a sad almost-smile on his lips.

"Do you ever think about going back? To Ireland?"

She doesn't know if him being here is permanent, if this is home for him or if it's just a stop along the way, a temporary reprieve until the pain of loss fades and becomes bearable.

Dropping her hand, he grabs the stick and shuffles the logs on the fire. She feels the loss of contact distinctly and laces her fingers together over her shins in an attempt to fill the void.

"I've not really thought about it." He runs his hand through his hair and shrugs. "I quite like it here. For now, that's enough."

It's not really an answer, and if anything, it leaves her with more questions.

Reaching out, Killian taps his knuckles lightly against her knee. "I've been considering inviting them out here at the end of July for Colin's birthday." He sounds uncertain. "Do you think your parents would be all right with that?"

"Of course," she says, then she rolls her eyes, "have you met my mother? She's basically just looking for an excuse to open her home and her heart to anyone and everyone."

Killian chuckles.

"Besides, toddlers are like her favourite thing ever. She'll be over the moon."

She frowns then.

"What is it, love?"

She sighs. "She would never say it to my face, but I think she's a bit disappointed that Neal and I broke up. I'm pretty sure she was expecting grandchildren in a few years."

The thought has her shaking her head. She's not sure that kids were ever in the cards for her and Neal, picturing him in a fatherly roll just seemed off somehow.

Killian's hand covers her joint ones and she lets his fingers twist with hers again. "Seems to me she's just happy to have her daughter home."

Sighing in reluctant agreement, she turns her sights back to the fire, watching the flames die down, but her attention is mostly focused of the feel of his hand in hers, warm and rough and solid. It's weird and confusing (because do friends even hold hands? and is there an acceptable time limit before it becomes weird? is it already weird? and are they really friends? if not, then what the hell are they?), but she keeps holding on, because somehow it just feels _right_.

When all that's left of the fire is a glowing pile of embers, Killian stands and fetches a pail of water from the river, smoke hissing, billowing upwards as he pours the contents over the ashes.

He helps her up, and in silence, by the dull light of the lantern they check on the horses, ensuring that they have enough water for the night.

They settle into their bedrolls on opposite sides of the tepee, shedding jackets and boots, but remaining otherwise clothed. She snuffs out the lantern, plunging the tepee into darkness and snuggles down into the cocooned warmth of her sleeping bag, listening to the comforting snort of the horses just outside and the even cadence of Killian's breathing not 10 feet away.

He could be asleep already, but she's not sure. "Killian?" she whispers in the dark.

"Yes, love?" he replies immediately and just as quietly.

"I uh – thank you for sharing all that with me tonight."

She hears rustling and for a split second she thinks he might be getting up, but it's more likely he's just turning on his side.

When his voice comes, it's still from the other side of the tepee. "Thank you for listening," he says sincerely. "I haven't..." he hesitates, "you're the first person I've told any of that to in detail."

Silently cursing the darkness, she wishes she could see his face.

After a beat he adds, "And thank you for trusting me enough to tell me about Neal."

Replying is difficult when she can't see his face to gauge his reactions, so she just hums in accordance. "Good night, Killian."

"Sweet dreams, love." His voice sounds content, sleepy, and it brings a smile to her lips.

As she drifts off, she listens to the soft rhythm, the hypnotic comfort of his steady inhales and exhales. What they have, this quasi-friendship, it's unlike anything she's ever experienced before, and she's unimaginably grateful for it.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Here's the next chapter as promised! Thank you again for all the lovely reviews! I love talking to you guys, so don't be shy and never hesitate to send me a PM!

* * *

Thunder booms ferociously, shaking the very ground on which she sleeps, ripping her from slumber and startling her upright in a tangle of blankets. Lightning flashes bright-white through the canvas of the tepee, illuminating its interior, and in the split second burst, she can see Killian already sitting up in his bedroll, eyes wide and alert.

Rain drives hard and relentless against the side of the shelter as thunder rumbles again, strong winds buffeting against the canvas, howling through the trees, and she's thankful now that she look the time to patch the tears. In the dark she fumbles for the battery powered lantern, flipping the switch to flood the tepee with artificial light.

Killian blinks, his eyes adjusting to the change in brightness. "I checked the weather before we left and there was no mention of storms in the forecast..." He sounds upset, almost angry, his voice mirroring his tense posture.

She nods; she had checked as well, but she's not overly surprised by the sudden onslaught of a severe thunderstorm. It happens sometimes when the conditions are right – the incoming cold front clashing with lingering warm, humid air – unstable and violent.

"It should blow over soon," she assures him.

He rises, restless, pacing back and forth in the tepee like a caged animal for a moment before grabbing his jacket and boots and pulling them on. "I'll go check on the horses."

She looks up at him from where she still sits, huddled in her sleeping bag. "Killian, they'll be fine in the shelter, it's safer to stay here."

He doesn't listen though, his eyes dark, not scared – more haunted, and before she can stop him, he's untying the flap and heading out into the stormy night with a flashlight.

He leaves the flap open, fluttering and slapping wetly in the wind and she quickly untangles her legs from her blankets, rising to grab the wild fabric as thunder reverberates through the heavens once more. She considers following him for a second, but she can barely make out the glow of his flashlight through the downpour, and the rain whips wet and cold, stinging her face, so she decides against it. He'll be back soon (she hopes) and there's no sense in them both ending up soaked to the bone and chilled.

_Idiot_.

She's not sure what exactly possessed him to leave the tepee and head out into the tumult. She understands his concern for the horses, but this isn't the first storm the geldings have weathered and she knows they'll be fine huddled together in the shelter.

It's like he didn't even hear her words.

He'd seemed haunted, his eyes dark empty pools, and she wonders if maybe it wasn't the storm that woke him. Now that she knows his story (most of it anyway), she can more clearly see the layers he hides away beneath the easy smile and charming words. In the seconds before he left the tent, he'd dropped all pretense – there had been no facade, no guise or flowery speech – just raw, pained emotion.

She wonders if perhaps a dream (compounded by the storm) triggered a memory of his brother's death. She still doesn't know the details, the how or the where or if he was present, if he witnessed it (god, she hopes not), but she suspects it wasn't pleasant and try as he might to outrun it – even on the other side of the planet – it still plagues him.

The rain picks up, falling harder (she's not sure how that's even possible), and thunder and lightning arise in quick succession as she peers out into the gloomy darkness through a small gap in the opening.

He's been gone for too long and she's getting worried that he hasn't returned yet. _So stupid_ – him for going out there and her for not having tried harder to stop him.

She waits a few more minutes and she's about to pull on her jacket and head out to search for him when he stumbles back through the flap of the tepee – soaking wet with mud stained jeans and hands, hair plastered to his head and red rimmed eyes that don't seem to acknowledge her presence. The flashlight he left with is nowhere to be seen and she shakes her head in disbelief.

He's dripping all over the floor of the shelter and she stops him by the entrance with a hand to his chest, blocking his path with her body as she quickly ties the flap shut. He doesn't move, just stands there sodden and miserable, eyes cast downward, staring at the floor, and she's a little bit clueless as to what she's supposed to do in this situation.

"Hey?" she whispers hesitantly, gently shaking his shoulder, but it doesn't garner much of a response.

How the hell is she supposed to help him if he won't help himself?

Still as a statue he stands, unmoving except for the chilled shivers that course through his frame, and she shakes her head again at the ridiculousness of the situation as she unzips and pulls off his jacket, wanting to get him dry. The flannel button up and t-shirt underneath seem relatively dry, but she unbuttons the plaid shirt, tugging it awkwardly from his arms, using it to dry his hair.

She leaves him standing where he is and rummages through his pack, pulling out a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms and a ribbed Henley.

She sighs because he's still staring blankly at the floor and there's no way in hell she's going to be the one to take off his soaked jeans – he's going to have to get his shit together enough to accomplish that by himself.

Grabbing his muddied hand, she squeezes, hoping for a response. He inhales sharply, wincing, and she lifts his hand gently, using the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe away mud mixed with flowing blood, exposing a nasty gash marring his left palm.

"What the hell Killian! How did you manage this?" she berates him, concern fueling her anger.

"Slipped and landed on a rock." Her eyes flicker upwards when he answers unexpectedly.

He's watching her now, awareness once again flickering in his blue eyes and she steps back, holding out the dry clothes. "Change," she commands. "Then I need to clean out your hand."

Killian takes the clothing in his uninjured hand and she turns her back to him, giving him privacy while she digs through her bag for the first aid kit.

_Idiot_, she thinks again as she listens to the squelch of wet denim and the chatter of his teeth amidst the roar of the storm outside. _Stupid, stupid man._

He leaves his wet clothes piled by the entrance and moves to sit on his bedroll, legs crossed, injured hand cradled in his lap. She sits down next to him on the sleeping bag, bringing the bucket of water and lantern with her, tugging his hand into her lap forcefully to examine it. The wound is filled with mud and grit and cleaning it out isn't going to be enjoyable. _Serves him right_.

"This is going to hurt," she warns him, wetting a cloth to wipe away the worst of the blood and dirt. She has to give him credit; he hardly flinches as she works, cleansing debris from the gash, using tweezers to pull out a stubborn pebble. He inhales sharply when she takes an alcohol wipe to the wound, but his hand stays resting palm up on her knee. She smears some antibiotic ointment onto a piece of hemostatic gauze and presses it to the still bleeding cut, securing it in place with a bandage around his hand.

"You're an idiot," she tells him softly as her thumb brushes over the veins running along the inside of his wrist, the thrum of his pulse pressing steadily against the sensitive pad.

His voice is quiet and self-deprecating when it comes, "I know, I'm sorry," and she almost feels bad for chastising him. _Almost_.

"It's all right. Let's just not make a habit of wandering out into thunderstorms okay?"

Nodding silently, he flexes his injured hand, breaking the contact and settling it back on his own lap. He seems warmer now, no longer shivering, but his skin is still cool and he really should get back under the blankets.

"You should sleep," she tells him, repacking the contents of the first-aid kit.

He sighs and runs his right hand through his damp hair. "I can't," he's quiet for a beat before elaborating, his voice so quiet she almost misses it, "nightmares."

In that moment he looks more like a lost little boy than a full grown man and her heart breaks a little bit for him. It's a split second decision – to drag her bedroll over next to his (in hindsight, it's probably not the wisest choice she's ever made, but she does it anyway), settling down beneath her blankets, leaving the lantern on at her back.

She used to have terrible nightmares as a child, waking up panicked, in a cold sweat, and the only thing that could calm her enough for sleep to come, was the warm glow of a nightlight and the presence of her mother in the bed next to her. She hopes that maybe her being here beside him will be comfort enough that he can eventually drift off.

"You don't have to sleep," she insists, "but at least get back in your sleeping bag."

He does so reluctantly, settling down on his back.

It would be so easy to cross the foot and a half between them, to hug him, to wrap him in her arms. A large part of her wants that, to snuggle up next to another body (to his body specifically), but she quells the urge, tucking her hands beneath her chin to keep herself from reaching out.

Closing her eyes, she listens to the sounds of the storm outside – the thunder has lessened, rolling off into the distance, but rain still falls heavily in a steady drumbeat against the earth, and Emma suspects that if it continues much longer, they won't be able to head home tomorrow – high rivers and the risk of mudslides making travel much too dangerous.

Killian's voice sounds quietly and she opens her eyes to look at him. "Liam died on a night much like this one." He's still staring up at the slanted walls of the tepee and she studies his profile as he talks. "We were out on his sailboat together and a storm blew in, sudden and violent. We were attempting to get the sails in order when we lost control of the boom – it clocked him right in the temple and knocked him overboard."

His hands are tucked inside his sleeping bag, so she reaches out and rests her hand against his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

He doesn't look at her, just continues with his rendition of that awful night. "Bloody fool wasn't wearing a life vest – he never did." Killian shakes his head sadly. "I grabbed a rope and went in after him, pulled him from the sea and got him breathing again, but he never regained consciousness – was dead before we got back to land. Coroner listed it as a massive subdural hematoma from the blow to the head." He pauses. "There was not a thing I could've done, but knowing that, it's of little comfort."

Tears shine unshed in his eyes and she shifts, tugging on his arm, trying to draw him to her, but he doesn't budge. Maybe she was wrong and he doesn't want contact, maybe he'd prefer to be left alone. She rolls back fully into own sleeping bag, releasing his arm and staring upwards, mirroring his position, thinking that maybe she should just get up and move back to the other side of the tepee.

She's about to do just that when he sighs loudly and turns to face her, his hand snaking out from beneath the blankets to grab hers, halting her retreat. "Usually thunderstorms don't bother me, not when they're expected," he tells her and she turns to face him, studying his handsome face – his eyes sad in the dim light of the lantern.

"You weren't expecting it though were you? Not tonight."

She already knows the answer.

Killian shakes his head. "Combine that with the nightmares – the flashbacks," he snorts humorlessly, "bloody fantastic timing, that."

"That's life for ya," she squeezes his hand, "terrible sense of timing."

That earns her a small smile. "Too right, love."

"So, were the horses okay out there?" She suspects they were totally fine, but it seems like an easy way to steer the conversation toward something lighter so she takes it.

"Aye, right as rain."

She laughs; because of all the ways he could have said that, he just had to reference the weather.

"Pardon that dreadful choice of words." He laughs too, looking lighter. "They seemed more put off by me shining the flashlight in their eyes than the storm," he says, still loosely clasping her hand.

It's easy to picture the irritated look the geldings must have given him. "Yeah those two are old pros. I don't often like to use the term bomb-proof when talking about horses – no matter how well trained, they still have a mind of their own, but Rock and Boulder are about as close as it gets."

Yawning, Killian nods in agreement, eyelids drooping ever so slightly.

He must be tired – he looks miles past exhausted and she suspects it's only sheer determination (brought on by a fear of reliving his brother's death) keeping him from sleep.

"Did I ever tell you about the time my parents held a guest wedding out at the cabins?" she asks, releasing his hand to bunch the thin pillow beneath her head. She's told him so many stories about the ranch over this past week that they've all started to blur together a bit.

"Can't say that I recall it."

"It was about 8 years ago. We had this bigwig CEO from the oil industry call us up and ask if we did weddings. It wasn't something we'd ever really considered, but you know my mom," she laughs at the memory, "there was no way in hell she was gonna pass up that opportunity. Plus the guy was willing to pay big time."

Killian cocoons deeper into his bedroll, pulling the blankets up to his chin as she continues, "the guy and his fiancé – a made-up brunette about 20 years his junior – wanted the whole fairytale western-themed wedding, complete with cowboy boots and hats, horses in the ceremony, etcetera. For the most part it was done tastefully thanks to my mom. Nothing she said could convince him to give up on a mechanical bull rental though – that looked pretty trashy sitting on the lawn by the cabins, but the guests had fun at least."

As she speaks, Killian's eyes have slowly been closing for longer each time he blinks, so she presses on with the story, voice soft, quieter.

"My father had a carriage built to their specifications and we hitched two light grey mares to it to bring the bride from the house the ceremony. We also had this white miniature horse named Tom – they didn't have a ring bearer or flower girl, so they wanted the pony to walk up the isle with the rings and a bouquet. It was perfect right up until the moment Tom snorted and sprayed bright green grass and snot all over the poor bride's dress."

"We called him Sneezy from that moment on," she concludes softly, but Killian doesn't hear it – he's sleeping soundly, impossibly long eyelashes dark against his cheeks, fist tucked up under his chin.

Once again she's forced to fight the urge to reach out and touch him. He looks so peaceful, so untroubled, so ridiculously perfect in the low light and shadows, that affection swells in her chest, warm and unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome.

Smiling, she reaches behind her to switch off the lantern before settling back down into her sleeping bag. The thunder has dissipated and now all that remains of the storm is the constant patter of rain upon the earth.

* * *

"Emma?"

"Emma, come in. Are you there?"

She scrunches up her nose and buries her face deeper into her pillow, nuzzling against the soft, warm fabric.

"Emma?" the voice sounds again, louder this time.

"Five more minutes," she grumbles, pulling the blankets up over her head to block out the noise.

It's then that her pillow shakes beneath her with laughter.

Wait – _what? _

She opens her eyes and pulls the blankets down, blinking to clear her vision as the fog lifts. Killian. Killian's shoulder. And chest. And what the hell? Why is she using him as a pillow?

She bolts upright, clumsily struggling from the blankets to stand and cross her arms. "Uh... why are you – were you snuggling with me?" she asks, incredulous. Her sleep addled mind can't seem to make any sense of the situation.

"Actually love, I believe it was you who was snuggling with me." His voice is teasing and she looks down to where he lays reclined in his own bedroll, arms crossed casually behind his head."As you can plainly see, I haven't moved an inch from my assigned domain" he grins, "I cannot however, say the same of you."

His bedroll is exactly where she placed it yesterday, and hers is half resting across his legs, and there's – is that? – she closes her eyes in embarrassment because there's a fairly substantial wet spot of drool on his shoulder where her head was resting and _god_, just how long was she practically sleeping on top of him?

"Why didn't you push me away or wake me?" she almost yells, angrier with herself than she is with him. She should have known better than to move so close to him last night. She's always been a bed hog, prone to cuddling. Did she think he was Neal and unconsciously seek out the warm presence next to her like she has almost every night for over 5 years? Probably.

"Apologies, love, I'd only just woken myself and was trying to suss out the best way to reach the radio without disturbing you." He doesn't look smug now. No, now he looks worried, like he's somehow offended her and she suddenly feels bad for yelling at him.

"The radio?" Why would he need the radio?

As if on cue, the radio crackles to life, her mother's voice sounding loud and worried over the speaker, "Emma! I swear to god if you don't pick up the radio this second..."

She reaches for it quickly, pressing the button to talk. "Geez Mom, if I don't pick up the radio right now you'll what? Have a cow?"

"Emma?"

"Yeah, I'm here, what's up?" she asks, sitting back down on her bedroll (still far closer to Killian than she'd prefer).

"Why didn't you answer?" Her mother's voice still holds a ridiculous amount of concern and she can hear her father speaking unintelligibly in the background.

"I was sleeping." Then something comes to her. "Wait. Why aren't you at work?"

Her mother ignores the question. "Are you and Killian all right?"

"Yeah, of course we are. What's wrong Mom?"

There's no response.

"Mom?"

Killian is sitting up now too, looking concerned.

"Any idea what's going on?" she asks him, trying not to take in his sleep-rumpled hair or the soft powder-blue of his eyes.

He shrugs. "I've not a clue."

When the radio sounds again it's her father speaking. "Hey, sorry kiddo, I'm here. That thunderstorm last night, there were some pretty nasty straight-line winds to go along with it. We're okay here at the farm – power is down, but no damage otherwise. People in town and the surrounding area weren't so lucky – your mother is on the phone with Ruby right now - trees down all over the place, damage, and there's massive flooding." There's silence for a beat. "Are the horses okay?"

She's already standing, reaching for her boots. "I'll get back to you in a minute, Dad. We're gonna go check on them now."

"10-4," her father replies.

She clips the radio to her jeans and they tug on their boots and jackets quickly.

It's drizzling lightly and the sky is a dull miserable grey when they emerge from the tepee. The grassy ground is saturated with moisture, muddy and squelching beneath their boots as they walk toward the horses. There are a several loose branches scattered on the ground, but as far as she can tell, the trees surrounding the clearing are all still standing, and apart from the fact that the river is up and flowing significantly fast than yesterday, they seem to have escaped any real damage.

"Hey boys," she calls out, and the geldings emerge from the shed, nickering in greeting. Killian unlatches the gate and they meet the horses half way across the corral, each checking their respective mounts for injuries. Boulder has a cut on his flank, but it's not deep and has almost stopped bleeding – it won't require much more than a quick clean and some ointment.

Unhooking the radio from her belt, she thumbs the push-to-talk button. "Hey Dad, the horses are fine. We got lucky up here too. The river is pretty high and everything is really wet and muddy, but it seems we missed the worst of those winds."

"That's good peanut, but they're calling for more rain this afternoon and evening so I think you and Killian should stay put for now. We'll keep in touch; let you know if it's safe to head home tomorrow."

She sighs, squishing the muddy grass beneath her boots. "Thanks Dad, give Mom a hug for me and let Ruby know I'd be happy to help out around town with repairs and clean-up as soon as we get back."

"Will do. Be safe, Goose."

"You too, Maverick," she says with a smile on her lips.

She cleans out the gash on Boulders flank while Killian holds him steady, whispering quiet reassurances, and it strikes her yet again how absolutely amazing he is with the horses.

The geldings return to grazing as they leave the corral and she tilts her head back, looking up at the depressingly grey sky, wishing the rain would stop so they can head home. It's not that she doesn't enjoy Killian's company – she does, it's just that she's a little shaken by the fact that she apparently spent a good portion of the night using him as a pillow (a very comfortable pillow at that) and she's not quite sure how to reconcile everything she's feeling (especially not while she's stuck up here in the rain with him).

"Penny for your thoughts, love?" He leans against the fence, watching her closely, arms crossed over his chest.

"Gonna cost you more than a penny."

Killian raises an eyebrow and she sighs, joining him in reclining against the fence. "Just wondering what we're gonna do all day," she says, running her fingers through her rain-frizzed hair, trying hopelessly to tame it. It's not _the_ truth exactly, but it's still a truth.

She realizes too late that she's given him the perfect opportunity to make a rather suggestive comment, but he doesn't take it, just smiles at her, picking at the bandage wrapped around his hand.

"Your family seems to be quite masterful at camping games; surely you can think of one or two suitable to occupy our time?"

Surely she _should_ be able to, but most games she knows are geared toward a larger group and coming up with something that works is a trying task. Her stomach grumbles loudly – maybe she should eat first. She makes that suggestion.

They each devour a protein bar – the taste of artificial chocolate leaves much to be desired, but when she's finished, at least her stomach is no longer gnawing restlessly.

Killian manages to get a fire started despite the damp weather and sets a pot of water on the grill to boil. When she asks him what it's for, he pulls a baggie of instant coffee from his pack with a wink and waggling eyebrows, and she thinks that maybe she should kiss him for providing her with much desired caffeine.

She doesn't though. Because that would hardly be appropriate.

The rain has all but stopped for the moment, so she grabs a small tarp from one of the saddle bags and lays it out over a log for them to sit on while the water boils. The clearing and surrounding forest hang thick with mist and ground hugging fog, and dew drops cling to blades of grass, ornate and shimmering.

Steaming water swirls with coarse coffee grinds and she cups her chilled hands around the stainless steel camp mug, inhaling the heady aroma while she waits for the liquid to cool.

When the first sip passes her lips, she closes her eyes and hums with appreciation. "You're the best."

Killian chuckles. "You're welcome."

She looks at him with a mischievous smile. "I wasn't talking to you," she jokes, taking another sip, "I was talking to the coffee. But thank you... I guess."

"She guesses," he mutters quietly, "I haven't known you long, love, but it's long enough to pick up on your startling propensity for caffeine. I'd be a fool to allow withdrawal to take hold of you out here," he grins, "too many places for you to dump my body."

Rolling her eyes, she elbows him in the side, careful not to spill his coffee. "Think you're funny, do ya?"

"Oh I know it." He nudges her back and she laughs, warmed by the coffee and the fire and his presence, forgetting for a moment the damp chill that hovers, stagnant in the air.

"How about a scavenger hunt?" The idea comes to her out of the blue. "It's not rainy right now and if we're gonna be cooped up inside the tepee later, I wouldn't mind spending some more time outside."

Killian nods and pulls a note pad and pen from his jacket pocket (why he has them in there, she has no clue – maybe he's been taking pointers from her mother; always prepared and the like). "Aye, that could be fun. Shall we make a list?"

It's silly and childish, and settling on 10 items for the list takes far longer than it should because they end up bickering over specifics, but when they're done he hands her a copy written in scrolling cursive.

_\- Earthworm_

_\- Wildflower _

_\- Pinecone_

_\- Clover_

_\- Feather_

_\- Snail_

_\- Mushroom_

_\- Round rock_

_\- Berries_

_\- Birch bark_

"Loser does the dishes later," she calls as she stands and makes a mad dash for the forest.

Killian's laugh echoes on the damp breeze. He's still dressed in flannel pyjama bottoms (tucked into his boots) that look ridiculously out of place paired with his dark leather jacket.

She spends the next hour scouting through the forest and digging in the mud, stashing her items in a spare plastic bag. When she finally pulls her last item – a wriggling earthworm – from the mud, she shouts triumphantly and jogs back into the clearing.

Killian joins her a moment later, with a grin on his face and mud covering his hands (she's going to have to change that bandage for him again).

She lays out her items to prove her victory and then asks him what he found.

"Found everything but the blasted snail," he tells her, spreading out his finds next to her own. The wildflowers are the last to emerge from his bag, and instead of setting them out on the tarp with everything else, he hands them directly to her.

They're pale fuchsia orchids (stunning in comparison to the boring yellow buttercups she found) and she holds them up for a closer look, inhaling the faint vanilla scent they give off.

"Calypso bulbosa, better known as -"

"Fairy slippers," she answers, stroking the delicate petals. "You some kind of botanist as well?"

Killian shakes his head, gathering up the snail and earthworms from the tarp. "Nothing of the sort, I just happen to pay attention when your mother prattles on about your favourite flowers."

"She told you my favourite flower?"

He nods. "In passing – she's spoken quite frequently of you these last several months."

He places the snail and earthworms back out of harm's way in the forest, and she watches him, smelling the flowers again. _Just how much does this man know about her?_

"I guess you know me pretty well then, huh?" she asks when he returns.

"Not so well as I would like."

The smile on his lips is soft and sweet and far too endearing, and his words stump her – silence her – words that under different circumstance, spoken in a different tone, might be considered lecherous – an innuendo, but here in this moment, it seems he honestly just wants to learn more about her.

Then something else hits her. He knew! The smug bastard knew!

"You _knew_ who I was that night when I barged into the apartment," she accuses, poking at his shoulder.

Killian blushes lightly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Guilty, I'm afraid. Your parents love you – there are photos all over the house and they were hardly shy about sharing them."

Shaking her head, she laughs loud and clear. "Please tell me you haven't seen the family photo albums."

He nods almost hesitantly.

She cringes. "The ones where Belle, Ruby, and I are dressed up as the Spice Girls and singing?" she asks, not really wanting to know the answer.

His blush deepens and she rolls her eyes. _Oh for the love of god_. "I'm gonna kill my mother when we get back."

"I must admit, you made a rather fetching Baby Spice," he says biting back a smile, trying to keep a straight face. He fails miserably.

She covers her face in embarrassment as her laughter grows, doubling her over until she's forced to grab hold of his shoulder to stay upright. When she finally catches her breath and straightens, wiping mirthful tears from her eyes, he's looking at her with open adoration.

The clearing is still and quiet, unnaturally so, and she looks at him, at the stupid grin on his face and the laughter alight in his eyes, and she forces down the little voice (it sounds a lot like Ruby) that rises up, tells her to _kiss him, go for it, just look at that face, he wants it, you want it, do it, do it, do it._

Indecision tugs at her very being and she sways on the spot, torn between giving in or turning heel and fleeing. In the end the heavens decide for her, releasing a startling rumble of thunder and a torrent of rain that breaks the spell and sends them both running for shelter.

She's still grasping the flowers when he ties the flap shut behind them, and she gently tucks the blooms into the front pocket of her bag (because they're too pretty to throw away and they are her favourite flower after all – it has absolutely nothing to do with the man now shaking the rain from his hair, watching her like an eager puppy – _nothing at all_).

After discarding her jacket and boots, she takes a seat on her sleeping bag, where it's still bunched up alongside his. "Come here and give me your hand," she says, opening the first-aid kit.

"Not necessary love, it'll be fine as it is."

She fixes him with a glare as he tugs off his jacket and attempts to lay out his wet clothes from last night. She doubts they'll dry in this weather – even in here out of the rain the air is still heavy with moisture.

"Sit," she demands, pointing at his bedroll when he's done fussing with the sodden clothing.

"If the lady insists." He plops down in front of her with his legs crossed and holds out his hand.

She unwraps the muddied outer layer and discards it on the ground. He's bled through the gauze beneath, and the material sticks to his palm stubbornly, forcing her to saturate it with water and gently peel it from his palm. He sits patiently while she works and she can feel his eyes on her face, watching her. The man holds eye contact like no one she's ever met before. It's unnerving.

When she's done she stands and tugs at the damp denim clinging to her legs. The rain falls hard and insistent outside, the cool air chilling her to the bone, and she shivers, digging through her bag for a pair of sweatpants.

She looks up to ask Killian to turn around so she can change, and finds that he's already facing the wall, rooting through his own pack. She shucks her jeans quickly and pulls on the sweatpants, stuffing her feet into a dry pair of socks.

As she retakes her seat on her bedroll, he turns around with a grin on his face and hands her a deck of cards bound with a faded blue rubber band.

"Where'd you find these?" she asks, thumbing through the familiar, well-worn deck, each card sporting a different breed of horse. She hasn't seen them since she was a kid.

"Tucked away in an inner pocket – your father leant the pack to me – he must have left them in there at some point." Killian gets up with a dry pair of jeans in his hand. "Don't peak," he says in warning, grinning as he moves to stand behind her.

"In your dreams," she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

"Aye, perhaps."

She throws his canteen blindly behind her back and knows she's hit her target when he grunts. "There you go again love, getting violent."

"You seem to bring that out in me."

It's tempting to turn her head just slightly and sneak a peek while he changes, but she can feel his eyes on her and knows that to do so, would without a doubt, mean getting caught.

But they're already skirting on dangerous enough territory – she has no desire to tempt fate. She's thankful the rain came when it did, because she's fairly certain if it hadn't, she was going to kiss him. And that would've opened a can of worms she's entirely unprepared for. She's not sure when commitment will become part of her vocabulary again, there's too much pain there right now – too much hurt and fear and disappointment to try again so soon, and he's too nice, he means too much to her to risk their friendship for a fling.

He sits down again and gently pries the cards from her hands, shuffling them expertly even with his bandaged hand.

"Crazy eights?" he suggests.

And she smiles.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Okay guys, here it is! Finally! I know it's crazy late, but I've been so busy voting for Captain Swan in the darn E!Online Poll, that I haven't been writing very much. It's a long chapter though, so hopefully that will help make up for the wait.

Take a break, read and enjoy, then get right back to voting please! ;)

* * *

The rain lets up in the early evening and they emerge from the tepee after countless games of crazy eights, go fish, and slapjack (Killian had been equally competitive and now her fingers are red and tingling from slamming down over each jack with far more force than necessary). It had been fun though, innocent and childish, and she had _almost_ forgotten about just how close she'd come to kissing him.

Baked beans make for a late supper, and by the time the sun sets, the sky is clear and cloudless, millions of stars twinkling entrancingly overhead. It's ridiculously romantic and she thanks a god she's not sure she believes in, that the next time they come up here, they won't be alone.

That night she moves her bedroll back to the opposite side of the tent, as far away as she can get from the temptation that is Killian Jones, and the next morning, when the sun rises, bright and warm, they make it safely back home to the ranch.

The following week is spent working non-stop, nearly every waking moment occupied either by the horses and barn chores, or heading into town to help with clean-up and repairs in the aftermath of the storm. She sees Belle and Ruby frequently, throwing herself into the safe distraction of female friendship (relatively safe that is, provided Ruby isn't pestering her about Killian).

Ashley Boyd's husky gives birth to a litter of five absolutely precious puppies in an assortment of whites and blacks and greys, spots and patches, long hair and short hair, and when Killian picks up the runt of the litter (a short-haired, white and grey speckled female with two blue eyes) snuggling it to his chest, her heart just about stops.

Then he mentions that he would be interested in adopting the "little lass" at the end of the summer (pending Mary-Margaret and David's approval, of course), and her heart leaps back into action, because adopting a puppy seems like something serious, something permanent, and she dares to hope that it means he'll be sticking around past the end of the season.

Her parents are of course thrilled by the idea, and Killian makes plans to pick up the puppy at the beginning of September when the summer rush and overnight trips to the tepees are over, freeing up his schedule. He's named her already; Avast – Ava for short; a close approximation of Eva, Mary-Margaret's late mother. She tells him this, and he just nods and smiles and says "I know." _The sentimental bastard_.

June becomes a haze of routine and warm days. With the arrival of guests staying in the cabins, Emma spends less time helping Killian with barn chores, and more time looking after people, answering their questions, guiding them toward activities and sights to see in the area. Killian joins her each time they take people out for a trail ride; most of them are beginners and have never seen a horse in person, let alone ridden one, so it's always helpful to have him around, bringing up the rear and keeping an eye on stragglers.

The guests they bring up to the tepees are required to take a lesson first and demonstrate themselves to be relatively capable riders – the nature of the trip and the rough terrain demand it. Their journeys up to the tepees are sporadic throughout June (the nights can still be cool and most guests prefer to wait for the warmer weather of July and August), but the trips they do make are notably different now that they're travelling with company.

There's less time to sit around and talk – they're always busy and rarely have a moment alone until they retire for the night (and by that point exhaustion leaves no room for further heart to hearts or tense moments of poorly veiled attraction). The attraction is there though, simmering just below the surface, hidden away, but unmistakable. She catches him watching her sometimes, it's intense and she's not sure he's even aware of it, but he never acts on it, is never anything less than a perfect gentleman, and she appreciates it, because in a way it makes it easier for her to keep her distance – to deny the pull she feels toward him.

One thing she can't deny though is how well they work together, moving in sync like parts of a well oiled machine. Tacking up and un-tacking the horses is second nature; he gathers water, she starts a fire, she cooks, he cleans. If she reaches for something, he's already handing it to her. Together they make sure their guests have a fantastic experience.

The first group they bring up is a family of five, hailing all the way from Ottawa, Ontario. She's forever surprised by the guests they get – the little town is hardly more than a pinprick on a map, but tourism is always booming in the summer and people travel from all over the country to visit.

The parents are kind and well-spoken and all three of their kids (13 year old twin girls, and an 11 year old boy) have been taking horseback riding lessons for a couple years. The boy follows her around like a shadow, wanting to help with every little task, and she catches the girls watching Killian chop firewood, giggling and doe-eyed. At night they sit around the campfire telling ghost stories and when Killian shares a particularly gruesome one, she has to stifle a laugh at the horrified look the twins give him.

The second group that visits the tepees is, to put it politely, an experience. Two young couples, good friends it seems, are fun and easy to talk to, but when Killian puts the fire out for the night and everyone retreats to their tepees, she suddenly wishes she'd thought to pack earplugs.

She settles down into her bedroll and Killian switches off the lantern on the other side of the tepee, wishing her goodnight. That's when it begins – the soft moans, the grunts, the unmistakable sounds of sex and pleasure. Killian mutters an annoyed "oh for the love of-" and she snorts, laughing because _god_ this is awkward and she doesn't know what else to do. After a couple minutes of uncomfortable tension in which they both try in vain to ignore the noises sounding in the night, she ends up digging blindly for her phone in her bag, putting music on (loudly), and opening up the solitaire app to distract herself. Killian flips the lantern back on and pulls out a book. When she cautiously turns her phone off half an hour later, the night is blissfully quiet once more.

Life has been busy and fun and just generally really good, and she's finding that days pass and she hardly thinks of Neal. The wound is still there (the hurt and the betrayal and the doubt), but it's no longer raw and bleeding, it's scabbed over now, healing slowly. She loved him once, maybe not for the right reasons, but she loved him, and that, she's discovering, takes some time to work past.

She's getting there though, slow and steady.

June shifts into July and she's determined to drag Killian into town for the Canada Day celebrations. He tries to protest, but David tells him in no uncertain terms that he's going and that it is not to be missed. The small town goes all out, turning the lake-side recreational area into an amusement park of sorts, complete with a Ferris wheel, carousel, carnival games, and stand after stand filled with sticky-sweet and deep-fried confections. There are even pony rides for the kids.

She scarfs down a quick dinner of leftovers from the fridge and hops in the shower to wash the sweat of the day from her skin. The evening is warm so she opts for shorts and a tank top, grabbing a light sweater to shove in her purse before stepping into her cowboy boots and calling a farewell to her parents as she heads out the door.

Crossing the driveway to the garage, she opens the door at the bottom and calls up the stairs. "You ready?"

"Be down in a moment, love," Killian replies, his voice muffled.

Less than a minute later he's trotting down the stairs, looking like sin in black jeans and a t-shirt the exact colour of his eyes. Then she gets a whiff of him, freshly showered, hair still damp, spicy body wash mixing with fabric softener and something uniquely him.

_God damn_. She practically salivates. _Down girl_.

He looks way too good and all the progress she's made these last few weeks, distancing herself from her attraction for him is very swiftly undone.

She's glad she won't be alone with him the entire evening, that they'll be meeting Belle, Ruby, and Victor at the park. She just has to survive the twenty minute drive into town, crammed in the front seat of her bug with him barely a foot away.

Apparently she didn't think this through when she insisted that he come along and join her friends.

He settles into the passenger seat and she jams the key into the ignition with more force than she intended, tension resting on her shoulders as she starts up the engine.

She needs to relax. Yes, he's practically sex on a stick, but she's not some desperate cat in heat, she can control herself... _right_?

"So tell me, these festivities, what's all the hullabaloo about?"

"Hullabaloo?" she repeats, shifting her eyes from the winding driveway for a moment to glance at him, shaking her head.

"Aye, hullabaloo – fuss, uproar, racket, hubbub."

She rolls her eyes. "I know what it means," she says in exasperation. "But you could have just said 'what's the big deal?'. Do you ever talk like a normal person?"

That smug grin tugs at his lips and he raises an eyebrow. "I've an extensive vocabulary at my disposal, love," he taps a finger against his temple, "it would be a disgrace to squander it in favour of such plain and unimaginative language."

"If you say so." She turns onto the main road, heading east toward town. "Anyway the _big deal_ is that it's Canada Day, and well, the town has held this celebration every year since way before I was born. It's a small town thing I guess, and all the extra money made from it gets put toward improvements around town. Plus it's really fun. You'll see," she promises.

Killian nods. "I suppose I will."

She expects the drive to be filled with awkward silence, but she couldn't be more wrong. Killian talks the entire time – lighthearted stuff that uncoils the knots in her shoulders and eases her grip on the wheel. He talks about Avast and how quickly the puppy is growing (he's been visiting her a couple times a week and can't wait to bring her home at the beginning of September). He also informs her that Abigail and Colin will be flying out in a couple weeks to visit (sooner than expected, but it was the only time his sister-in-law could get off work).

He's recanting the latest of little Colin's adventures (a trip to the zoo – zebras have now replaced hippos as his favourite animal) as they drive into the gravel lot by the park. Her yellow bug is impossible to miss and Belle waves her over to an empty spot beside Ruby's camaro.

Killian hovers close to her side when they leave the car and join her friends under the shade of a large maple. She hugs Ruby and Belle tightly, then gives Victor a quick one-armed hug. "How've you been holding up, Victor?" Emma asks, smiling. "It's been ages."

Victor nods. "Sure has. I've been good; school eats up a lot of free time, but I love it. It's nice to be home for the summer though." He wraps his arm around Ruby's shoulders, squeezing her to him.

Killian takes a step forward and Emma introduces them. "Killian, Victor. Victor, Killian." The men shake hands.

"So how long have you and Emma been dating?" Victor asks casually, as they make their way into the park.

Emma nearly chokes on air and Killian sputters, trying to come up with a response. "Oh we're not-"

"He works for my parents," she says, jumping in. "We're just friends."

"Sorry, I just assumed you were more since you arrived together," Victor apologizes and Ruby glances back over her shoulder, laughing. "See, Em? I'm not the only one who thinks you two would make a totally adorable couple."

"Yeah, yeah, Ruby, we all know your stance on the topic." Emma just rolls her eyes, because she's used to Ruby's incessant needling by now, but Killian has yet to experience it, and if she's not mistaken, he blushes lightly.

Ruby grins wolfishly at them and strides ahead with Victor and Belle in tow.

Hanging back a few feet, she falls into step with Killian. "Sorry about that," she says, glancing sideways at him.

Killian shrugs and grins at her. "S'all right, love." He's quiet for a moment, and then, "so we're a regular topic of discussion, are we?" His voice is light and teasing and she elbows him in the ribs.

"Ruby seems to have it in her head that the best way for me to get over Neal would be to jump into bed with you." The words come out before she has any real chance to consider them and tension immediately blossoms, filling the space between them, potent and all too real.

_Crap_.

"Crazy right?" she tacks on quickly, because any topic involving her and Killian and a bed is not something she wasn't to discuss or even contemplate.

"Of course, absolute rubbish – everyone knows the best way to get over a break-up is to binge on ice cream and cry whilst watching chick flicks."

The uncomfortable pressure on her chest lessens instantly and she marvels at his ability to always say the right thing – to pull her out of these holes she keeps digging. He really is a good friend.

"I've never cared much for chick flicks, but I wouldn't say no to some ice cream."

"They're sure to have some around here, aye?"

"Yeah, Ingrid – she owns 'Any Given Sundae' – usually has a stand around here somewhere," she says as they slip past the cedar posts that mark the boundary between gravel and grass, parking lot and park, walking over ramps that cover the cords and electrical wires powering the festivities.

Stepping into the Canada Day fair is like stepping into another world: the sun is still bright and warm above the trees, casting golden light into the sea of brightly lit rainbow coloured booths and rides, prisms glancing off of scintillating metal as music and chatter and laughter fill the air, floating on a breeze rich with candied corn and spun sugar.

They wander around as a group for a while, chatting while they check out the offerings, waiting for something to catch their eye. Kids mill about, running in every direction, skirting between people, ducking under arms and occasionally plowing straight into legs in their hastened excitement. No one complains though, and no one worries; if parents can't see their own kids, it's likely a neighbour or friend or teacher is keeping an eye out. Small towns are great like that and she laughs, smiling as a little redheaded boy with a face full of freckles runs up to her and shyly thrusts a bright white daisy at her, disappearing back into the crowd without a single word. Not two minutes later, a shorter dark haired boy blushing furiously all but throws a daffodil at her.

She catches sight of the boy rejoining the redheaded kid, giggling as they duck behind a tree.

"It would appear those lads fancy you love, gifting you with flowers and all," Killian says, chuckling.

She _almost_ points out that he has also given her flowers and asks if that means that he "_fancies_" her too, but for once she actually manages to filter the thought before it spills past her lips. Instead she just grins at him and tucks the two small blooms into the elastic binding her ponytail.

Belle wanders off, distracted by a booth selling discount paperbacks, and Emma takes a seat on an empty picnic table next to Killian, watching while Victor and Ruby take turns at the dunk-tank, determined to drop Sidney Glass (head of the town's small newspaper) into the icy pool below.

Envy presses softly at her chest as she watches Ruby and Victor rejoin the dunk-tank line for a second attempt, arms wrapped around each other, sharing the occasional chaste kiss. She's happy for Ruby, she really is, but she can't help but feel a little resentful and she hates herself for it.

Killian nudges her softly, shoulder bumping against hers to get her attention. She follows his gaze over to a balloon and dart game where kid after kid is striking out and trudging away disappointed.

"How much would you like to bet love, that those darts are dulled?" Killian says frowning.

"Seriously?" Her frown matches his. "People actually rig shit like that?" she asks. "They're just kids."

Suddenly Killian's eyes brighten. "How about we go win her a unicorn?" He points at a maybe nine year old blonde with pigtails. "Poor little lass has tried 3 times and hasn't popped a single balloon."

He looks ridiculously excited and she finds herself unable to stop the growing smile that tugs at her lips. "All right then you big softie, what's your plan?"

Killian pulls a pocket knife from his jeans and shows it to her.

She raises an eyebrow. "I hate to break it to you, but if you mug the guy and get arrested, I'm not bailing you out."

He shakes with laughter, eyes shut tight in amusement. "While stealing from that crooked git might almost be worth it, that's hardly the plan I've in mind, love," he says, tucking the folded knife away in the ankle of his boot.

"The plan is to first go buy you a nice big fountain drink, then I'll head over there, hand the man five dollars and collect my darts. That's where you come in – you'll walk over with your wallet open and the drink in your hand, make sure you loosen the lid," he insists.

"You want me to spill a drink all over you?" she confirms skeptically, catching onto his plan. "You're serious?"

Killian nods. "Aye. I'll just go buy one of those silly souvenir t-shirts afterwards. I'd planned on it anyhow."

God, she can't believe this man – the lengths he's apparently willing to go to just to win a silly stuffed animal for a kid he doesn't even know. She shakes her head. Damn if this doesn't make her like him even more.

"You spill the drink all over me, drop your wallet, I'll drop the darts, we make a big fuss apologizing and while we attempt to clean up and gather our belongings, I'll give the darts a quick sharpen with the knife."

He makes it sound so incredibly simple. "You're insane, Jones," she tells him as they get up and head over to the nearest concession stand.

She orders a diet sprite (at least that won't stain and hopefully won't be too sticky) and he tries to pay for it insisting that the whole plan was his idea, but she waves him off, determined to contribute.

They part ways a fair distance from the dart booth, and she stops under a nearby tree, loosening the lid and waiting. Killian tugs a five from his wallet and hands it to the disinterested middle-aged man running the booth.

She walks closer, pretending to look through her wallet as the carny hands the darts to Killian, and when he turns sideways, testing their weight in his palm, she walks right into his chest, dumping the entire litre of ice-cold soda down his front. The shocked yelp that sounds from his mouth is real enough and she has to fight to keep the laughter from bursting past tight lips. She drops her wallet and the cup and Killian drops the darts, pulling at the wet fabric that clings to him like a second skin, revealing a toned physique she wasn't really aware existed. _Damn_.

Focus Emma, _foucs_!

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," she says, pulling the sweater from her purse to dab at his saturated t-shirt. "I wasn't watching where I was going and I was trying to put my change back in my wallet and I just, I'm really, really-"

He cuts her off, resting his hand against her forearm, putting a stop to her frantic dabbing. "Quite all right, love," he says grinning at her, looking her up and down, "most beautiful women who throw their drinks at me do so in anger," he winks (_the bastard winks_), flirting openly with her, "this is a welcome change of pace."

"Is that so?" she replies and out of the corner of her eye she catches the booth operator rolling his eyes in annoyance before turning his attention to what looks like a baseball game on a tablet.

Nodding subtly at Killian, she glances sideways.

"Let me help you collect your things, love," he says, and they both crouch down to reach for the items on the ground. She gathers the fallen change and receipts, slowly stuffing them back into her wallet as Killian makes quick work of sharpening the darts. The crowd passes by them, completely unaware of their scheme and when he's done, he offers his free hand, helping her up.

"Now I'm not usually one to brag, but darts just happen to be one of my _many_ talents," he says loud enough that the man turns his attention back to them, looking unimpressed.

Emma leans against his side flirtatiously, looping her hand around his bicep.

_God, this charade is a little bit too much fun_.

"Think you can win me that unicorn?" She points at the rainbow coloured monstrosity strung to the ceiling.

"Whaddya say, mate?" Killian addresses the man. "What'll it take to win that noble steed for this lovely lass here?"

"Any five takes home the prize," he mutters monotonously, reciting the line on the wooden plaque.

Killian only has three darts – she's not quite sure how he's going to manage this. He just grins reassuringly at her and she releases his arm, taking a step to the side.

His first dart lands square in a blue balloon, popping it easily. The second misses altogether, landing between two balloons and the booth operator sneers at him, looking smug.

Killian twirls the last between his fingers, gripping it lightly. "Do you believe in magic, love?" he asks her, raising an eyebrow with a lecherous grin.

She bites her lip and grins back at him. "I guess we'll see, won't we?"

He angles his last dart steep, releasing it in a high arc. It falls straight down, parallel to the wall, taking out an entire column of five balloons in one shot.

The disgruntled carny stares on in disbelief, and playing the part of the excited floozy; Emma squeals elatedly and grabs his arm again. "My hero!" she exclaims dramatically.

Reluctantly, the man hands over the gaudy unicorn and she tucks it under her arm, carrying it awkwardly as she and Killian walk away, barely concealing their laughter.

Collapsing on an empty bench, she can't contain the hilarity any longer, allowing it to double her over. She's tries several times to straighten and gather her wits, but each glance at Killian's wet shirt and the god-awful unicorn, send her into another fit of giggles.

God, she's not supposed to be the girl that giggles. She _doesn't_ giggle. What the hell is wrong with her?

Maybe there isn't anything wrong with her. Maybe it's just that fun has been all too rare in her life for so many years. She and Neal had fun in the early years sure, but she can't remember laughing that hard even once in the last year she spent with him.

_Killian makes her laugh almost daily..._

The thought sobers her quickly and she manages to catch her breath. "I haven't had that much fun in years," she admits, wiping at her eyes.

"You're quite the actress, love." Killian takes a seat next to her and pulls at his soda soaked t-shirt.

"So are you. For a second there I actually thought you were flirting with me."

Suddenly Killian leans in, hovering close, invading her personal space. "Emma," her name rolls off his tongue, rough and dark and oh so dangerous, "when I flirt with you," he looks her up and down in a pointed perusal that sends a shiver rushing up her spine, "you'll know it."

She sits there, stunned into silence (because while she's known the attraction was there, he's never been this openly forward with her before), the blue of his eyes and the way his tongue darts against his teeth as he speaks, holding her captive. Fighting the relentless tug of the tide between them is a battle she's slowly losing, and she's not sure what will happen if she gives up. Will the undercurrent sweep her out to sea? Or will the waves carry her to shore?

And then, just as suddenly, before she has any real chance to properly process the situation, he's pulling back and smiling easily. "Your friends are waiting for you over there, love," he nods to where Victor and Ruby are standing with Belle by a table full of paperbacks, "I'll rejoin you shortly once I replace this shirt."

"What about the unicorn?" The words are first that come to mind and she searches the crowd for the young girl.

"I'm sure we'll come across her soon enough. Now head on over, Ruby's waiting."

Sure enough when she looks up, Ruby is waving at her enthusiastically, so she scoops up the unicorn and walks over to join her friends, proud that she resists the urge to look back over her shoulder at Killian.

She can keep her distance when he's funny and friendly, but if he's going to be doing _whatever-the-hell-that-was _again; she shakes her head – flirting. That was flirting.

_She's in big trouble_.

Ruby throws an arm over her shoulder when Emma reaches her side. "Soooooo, what was that all about, Em?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Emma says, feigning clueless.

"Emma Ruth Nolan," Ruby breaks out the middle name and Emma cringes, "Killian's shirt is soaked, you're holding a giant stuffed unicorn, and don't even _try_ to tell me you didn't notice that smouldering look he just gave you!"

Emma rolls her eyes and Ruby plants her hands on her hips "Fess up!"

Apparently there's no way she's getting out of this.

"The operator at the balloon dart game was handing out dull darts and this one little girl lost like three games in a row, so Killian decided we were going to win this unicorn for her, but to do that we needed sharp darts, so I spilled a drink on him creating a diversion so he could sharpen the darts. That's why his shirt is wet and why I'm holding this giant fluffy thing. We still need to find the girl – blonde, about 9, pigtails," she rushes though the explanation.

"And that look?" Ruby's face all but screams '_feed me bullshit and I'll know it_'.

Emma sighs – honesty it is then. "That look – was Killian flirting with me."

Ruby squeals gleefully in response and Emma closes her eyes, wishing the earth would swallow her up as several people close to them stop and stare.

"So?" Ruby prods.

"Nothing, that's all there was to it, he flirted with me for like a second, then he left to go buy a dry shirt."

"Emmmmaaaaaa," Ruby whines.

"Ruuuuuubbbbby," Emma mimicks. "Really, there's nothing else to say."

"I still think you should go for it, Em," Ruby says, fluffing the rainbow coloured mane of the unicorn, "I mean it's super obvious he's into you, and you said it yourself, he's a nice guy. And after everything with Neal, you could use a nice guy."

"I thought Neal was a nice guy at first too," she strokes the velvety soft fabric of the stuffed animal, frowning, "and looked how that turned out."

Ruby huffs in frustration. "Would Neal have ever considered, _even for a second_, asking you spill a drink on him just to win a toy for a kid he didn't even know?"

No. She shakes her head. Neal never would have done that.

"You should just give the guy a chance, Em."

She could, maybe she should, but she won't. As big a bastard as Neal was, as much as his betrayal hurt, she did love him, and he broke her heart. She can spout half-truths about not wanting to ruin her friendship with Killian, or act concerned about jeopardizing his job, but the honest truth is, (and she hates to admit it, even if only to herself), that she's _afraid_ – afraid of letting him in, of giving someone so much power over her again.

Friendship is safe – it poses very little threat to her heart.

She sighs, looking up. "Can we just drop it please, Ruby?"

Ruby looks ready to argue, but Killian picks that moment to rejoin them, and she's never been so simultaneously glad to see him, yet completely and totally set on edge by his presence.

He's wearing a dark shirt with cartoon versions of Peter Pan, Captain Hook, and Tinkerbelle cast in bright colours, and she shakes her head, torn between laughing and crying, because god he's both ridiculous and adorable and her traitorous heart always beats a little faster when he's around.

Killian takes the unicorn off her hands, fingers brushing against hers as she transfers the furry monstrosity into his arms. "I caught sight of that little lass over by the ice cream stand. What do you say, love? Ruby? Shall we get some ice cream?"

"I'm in!" Ruby agrees enthusiastically. "Belle! Victor! Come on! We're going to get ice cream!"

They wait for Belle to pay for several books, shoving them into the large backpack she carries when she reaches their side. "Okay, I'm good here. Did someone say ice cream?"

Any Given Sundae has always had the best selection of flavours and Emma goes for the usual suspect – a scoop of rocky road. Belle gets mint chip, Killian decides to try out the tiger tail, and Ruby and Victor share a double scoop of red velvet cheesecake.

As they take seats at a nearby picnic table, Killian catches sight of the young blonde girl again. "Hold this for a moment, would you, love?" he hands her his ice cream cone and takes off with the stuffed unicorn.

Seated at the picnic table she holds the ice cream cones, watching as Killian approaches the young girl and a man who appears to be her father. She can't make out any words, but the men seem to exchange introductions, smiling and shaking hands. Then Killian kneels and sets the unicorn down on the ground in front of the girl, whispering something that lights up her face; she nods vigorously and throws her arms around the neck of the large stuffed animal, giggling. Killian points toward where Emma sits on the picnic table and the little girl waves excitedly. Emma smiles back, unable to wave with her hands full.

The entire scene is achingly sweet and adorable and god, she knew he was good with kids from that one trip up the tepees, but this is something else entirely.

"Emma, the ice cream is melting," Belle points out with barely concealed laughter.

The sun is low in the sky now, sunset almost upon them, but the evening is still warm and the ice cream is slowly melting, slipping sideways as a sticky rivulet runs over her fingers. Tearing her eyes away from Killian, she quickly licks away the melting cream from her own cone, then, frowning, she does the same with Killian's ice cream, chocolate swirling with orange and the tang of licorice on her tongue – it's that or abandon the treat to what would likely be an unfortunate fate upon the ground.

Ruby is laughing openly now. "Girl, you've got it bad." Belle joins in. Victor thankfully seems to have the good sense to bite his lip and remain quiet.

Emma glares at her friends, then spends the next minute until Killian returns, focusing every ounce of her attentions on eating her ice cream and trying to keep Killian's from dripping too badly all over her hand; she succeeds – sort of.

Killian returns and when she thrusts the partially eaten ice cream cone back into his hand he raises an eyebrow, silent but smirking.

"It was melting," she says by way of explanation. "Looked like that little girl was happy with her unicorn."

Killian settles in next to her at the picnic table, licking at his ice cream as he talks. "Her name is Morgan and aye, she was thrilled to provide good Sir Bartholomew with a home."

"Sir Bartholomew? She come up with that on her own or did you help her out?" Emma asks, trying not to pay too much attention to the way Killian's tongue caresses the icy treat in lazy sweeps. Or the way the golden light of the sinking sun washes over his face, highlighting the red in his stubble.

"Believe it or not, she came up with that all on her own."

"So Killian," Ruby starts, "do you make a habit of winning stuffed animals for adorable little kids you don't even know?"

"Can't say that I do so often, no," he scratches behind his ear, running his fingers through his hair, "but the arse was quite obviously rigging the game and it seemed like the honourable thing to do."

Emma doesn't miss the pointed look Ruby gives her. Even Belle looks at her like she'd be crazy not to give Killian a chance. Killian _has_ to notice the looks her friends are throwing her way – he'd have to be blind not to, but he doesn't say anything or visibly acknowledge it, and damn if that doesn't make him even more attractive – the fact that he seems to know just how far he can push her, and when to step back and let things be.

Victor chooses that moment to speak up, "we should get in line for the Ferris wheel if we want to be up there as the sun is setting."

They head to the ticket booth and Victor buys enough for the group. Emma and Ruby hand their purses off to Belle, and when they get in line, Killian looks back to the bench where Belle sits alone.

"What about Belle, love? Surely she would like a turn on the Ferris wheel? I don't mind sitting alone if she'd like to ride with you." He steps out of line, looking concerned.

Shaking her head, Emma tries to pull Killian back into the line, but he doesn't budge. "Don't worry about it, Belle has a thing with heights. We haven't been able to get her on the Ferris wheel since she was seven and broke her arm falling out of a tree."

"Does she not feel left out? We can sit back and wait with her if you'd like – take our turn after Ruby and Victor finish."

His concern for Belle is adorable, it really is, but they're holding up the line and she can tell that the people behind them are starting to get frustrated with their lack of movement.

Grabbing his hand, she squeezes lightly. "Killian, really, it's okay. We've done rides this way for as long as I can remember, Belle really doesn't mind."

He looks down at their hands and seems to deflate. "All right, love, if you're certain."

"I am. Now get back in line." She tugs on his hand, pulling him back into the queue, and he comes more willingly than expected, or _maybe_ she just tugged more forcefully than needed, because he almost stumbles into her.

Dropping his hand, she tries to put some more space between them, but it's difficult then the throng of people awaiting their turn on the Ferris wheel are constantly pushing forward. The line moves slowly, the crowd inching forward, then stopping, inching, then stopping, and by the time the operator is hustling them into the worn leather seat of chair number seven, the sun has nearly disappeared, hovering just over the horizon.

They buckle their seat belts and the operator secures the metal bar over their laps. It's worn smooth, the yellow paint missing in places and the rail leaves her hands smelling metallic, sharp and acrid, but somehow not entirely unpleasant.

The Ferris wheel begins its steady rotation as more people are loaded into their seats. They come to a stop at the very top while the operator below attempts to buckle a few unruly children into a cab, and Emma looks out over the park, at the bright lights, vibrant and flashing in the dwindling light. Other rides spin quickly in whirlwinds of streaking colour and people scurry around, small and surreal below. She can still hear the sounds of the fair, the music and laughter, ringing bells and muffled voices sounding over speakers, but it's quieter up here in the approaching twilight.

Looking out over the lake, she watches the sun begin its final descent, pink-orange and glowing, a luminescent beacon reflecting in the calm waters below. It's stunning and serene and she _hates_ it: hates it because it's almost exactly like the first night Neal kissed her.

Closing her eyes she fights back the memory, willing herself to think of something else – _anything_ else.

"You all right there, love?" Killian's voice is barely a whisper and his knee bumps against hers in concern.

She sighs.

Is she all right? _Probably not._

All of this, it brings back a flood of memories – memories of being young and crazy in love, and her heart just aches at the thought of everything she's lost, even though her mind is screaming at her to just fucking get over it already, telling her that Neal doesn't deserve one more second of her time or have any right at all to still occupy a space in her heart.

So she doesn't answer him. She doesn't know what to say, and it's not until Killian is looping his arm over her shoulders and tugging her to his side in a comforting half-hug that she realizes there are tears in her eyes.

She's stiff against him at first, fighting the embrace instinctually, but his hand squeezes her arm gently, his thumb brushing against her skin in a soothing motion, and she can't, won't, (doesn't want to) fight it any longer. Sighing, she allows her head to fall to his shoulder as the Ferris wheel starts moving again.

He's warm; a safe haven amidst the cool breeze and swirling emotions in her chest, and she wipes at her eyes, breathing deep, taking in his scent, spice and sweat and comfort.

Killian presses a kiss to her hair, soft and lingering for a second before he turns and rests his cheek against her head, and it could be the motion of the Ferris wheel as is crests and falls that sends her stomach somersaulting, aflutter with thundering wings, but she suspects that more likely, Killian has something to do with it.

When the ride comes to a halt and the process of unloading and reloading passengers begins, she pulls back, putting some space between them again.

He watches her closely, studying her like she's a puzzle and he's trying to figure out just where he fits into the jumbled mess of overturned pieces. She wishes she could give him an answer, but she can't, not when she has no earthly clue what the end product is supposed to look like.

Instead she offers a sad smile. "Thanks."

She's not entirely sure what she's thanking him for (the hug? the shoulder to cry on? knowing that sometimes words aren't necessary?), but the sentiment feels appropriate.

His answering smile is thoughtful and he tilts his head, seeming to consider something.

"You'll be all right."

_It sounds like a promise. _

"You seem awfully sure of that," she says, eyeing him skeptically.

Killian nods. "I am."

Their cart rocks to a stop at the bottom, halting any further discussion, and they climb from the seat, rejoining Ruby and Victor just outside the exit. They meet Belle back at the bench and she hands Emma her purse with a knowing grin.

She hadn't even thought about it (that Belle was likely watching) when she'd leaned into Killian's embrace up there on the Ferris wheel. She's thankful at least that Victor and Ruby had probably been too busy making-out to pay any attention to anyone else – she knows for a fact that had Ruby seen the hug, she would have announced it for all the world to hear, up there from her swinging seat, high in the sky.

Giving Belle a look that practically begs her not to say anything, she pulls her sweater from her bag, tugging it on over her head. It's still a little damp from the charade with Killian earlier, but it's cooler out now that the sun has set and she's glad for the extra layer (besides, it doesn't hurt that it smells a little bit like him).

The sky transitions from Prussian blue to the deepest of blacks, stars twinkling into view, and a deep voice rumbles over the park-wide speakers, announcing that the fireworks will begin in 15 minutes. Belle, Ruby, and Victor start making their way to the exit of the park, but Killian lags behind, looking confused.

"Come on," she urges, linking her arm with his playfully. She tries to drag him along, but his feet are planted firmly on the spot.

"But if we leave we'll miss the fireworks." He's practically pouting and she can't help but laugh.

"We'll only miss them if you keep dragging your feet. Now trust me, we know a better spot."

The park is filled with people crowding the waterfront near the dock, all vying for a decent position to watch the fireworks. It's been years since she's been around to watch them, but even she knows it's not the best vantage point available.

Letting go of Killian's arm, she jogs to catch up with Belle. "Come on, slow-poke!" she calls over her shoulder. He joins them a second later, shaking his head.

They leave the park, walking hastily along the quiet streets to a quaint little house with a white picket fence. She holds her finger up to her lips, warning him to be quiet as they climb over the fence in a spot near the bushes, walking quickly in the shadows until they break through to a clearing right by the water. Waves laps gently at the shore and they take a seat on the grass-covered lawn.

"Should I be concerned that we're trespassing?" Killian asks, settling in the grass between Emma and Belle.

"Nah, it's nothing to worry about," Belle says reassuringly. "Walter – that's the guy who lives in the house – we've been coming here since we were kids to watch the fireworks and he's never once noticed."

"We're pretty sure he's some sort of narcoleptic," Emma adds, chuckling.

In the distance, on the dock by the park they catch glimpses of people moving, setting up and rechecking the firework display. The sound of muffled music and the excited voices of the crowd carry over the water, a lively hum of shared joy and unity.

The crowd grows quiet and a high pitched whistle sounds as a spark of light shoots into the air, a loud crack thundering across the water is it explodes in a brilliant burst of red and white fire. The pop, pop, pop, of bright orange jets into the night sky, shimmering amongst the stars, and the show commences in a kaleidoscope of dazzling colours, greens and blues and pinks, shooting and scattering across the heavens in breathtaking explosions of sight and sound.

After several minutes, the fireworks cease, lingering smoke drifting slowly east on the idle breeze. Killian makes a move to stand and Emma grabs his hand, tugging him back down to the ground. "Sit. It's not over yet," she whispers.

He nods and settles back down, but doesn't release her hand. She could pull away, make a fuss. She probably should, but she's knows it's only seconds until the grand finale and really, holding his hand is actually kind of nice, so she leaves her hand where it is, fingers curling loosely around his palm, resting in the grass between their knees.

The finale lasts all of thirty seconds, but it's as spectacular as she remembers it to be. There's no break between explosions, set off in quick succession, echoing thunder crashing through the empyrean as chemicals spark and take flight, a crackling waterfall of sparks showering back down to earth as glitter and brocade burst forth, violent and vivid.

Killian squeezes her fingers, releasing her hand as the show wraps up. He's smiling at her, happy and bright, and it's contagious, because the same grin blooms on her own lips and there's no way in hell she can fight it.

And then it's there again, slamming full force into her chest, the breathless urge to kiss him.

But Belle is standing and Ruby is chattering on about something and reality comes crashing back down, harsh and unbelievably frustrating.

Standing, she offers her hand to help Killian up (he's perfectly capable of rising on his own, but it's an excuse to touch him and god, she really has a problem here). She's terrified to give ground, to take a chance on him, to risk trying and failing, leaping and falling. There's potential there, truckloads of it, and temptation burns bright, anticipation crawling beneath her skin, and her nails bite crescent moons into the palm of her hand as she struggles internally to make sense of all this insanity.

She hardly notices as they make their way back to the park, feet shuffling along lamp-lit asphalt. She hugs Belle and Ruby mechanically when they make it to the cars, still lost in thought, somehow managing to utter a relatively enthusiastic goodbye.

Her slightly melancholic mood blows right over Ruby's head, but Belle notices, hugging her for a moment longer than usual, and Emma tosses her friend a small smile.

The parking lot is almost empty now. It's a small town and curfew here is most often timed with the setting sun. With the celebration over, everyone packs up, heading home to their beds and their families; a good night's rest and early mornings on the agenda. It's all seems like a hazy memory at times – so different from the existence she held in the city where life didn't really start until the sun set, where bright lights and constant noise were ever-present.

"Emma?" Killian's voice is quiet and his fingers tuck a wild curl behind her ear. "Would you like me to drive, love?"

She digs through her purse and hands him the keys. "Sure."

Normally she's not a fan of letting other people drive her car; it's temperamental and stalls out far too easily, but she's distracted and suddenly exhausted and handing the keys over to Killian seems like the easiest decision she's made in ages.

Sitting in the passenger seat feels foreign and she buckles her seatbelt, turning toward the window as the bug rumbles easily up the hill and out of the sleeping town. Killian fiddles with the radio, finally settling on a station playing late 90's soft rock at low volume. The night is dark and moonless, and there really isn't much to see with her head tilted toward the window, so she closes her eyes, listening to the nostalgic melody of _'Hanging by a Moment'_ and the steady hum of tires against pavement.

Despite her earlier thoughts and the tension still weighing on her shoulders, the drive is rather peaceful and by the time they turn down the driveway to the house, she's quite tired and more than ready to sleep.

Killian parks the bug next to her father's truck and walks her to the door. "I had fun tonight, love. Thank you for inviting me to come along with you and you're friends."

She smiles at him, leaning with her back pressed against the screen door. "Of course, what are friends for, right?"

The look he gives her is a mixture of intense contemplation and warm affection, and he takes a step forward, close enough that she can feel the heat coming off him waves as he dips his head to catch her gaze.

For one incredibly long second, she thinks he's going to kiss her, and she stands frozen, holding her breath, unable to move.

But he just turns his head and whispers in a quiet, reassuring voice next to her ear, "I'm not going anywhere, Emma," and once again his words sound an awful lot like a promise. She releases her breath in a shaky exhale when he draws back and smiles, wishing her good night as he presses her car keys into her hand.

She stays standing on the porch as he crosses the driveway and disappears into the garage.

_I'm not going anywhere._

A simple phrase, but she hears the unspoken words behind it.

_If you give me a chance, I'll not let you down._

* * *

A/N: Now I know I promised some of you an actual kiss in the chapter, but my muse apparently has a mind over her own, and this happened instead of what I had originally planned. But fear not, the next chapter is going to get a little heated. ;)


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Here it is! Another long chapter! And as promised, certain things will _finally_ happen. ;)

Thank you all for continuing to be the best bunch of readers and reviewers ever!

* * *

Emma wakes peacefully to the harmony of muted oldies on FM-radio and the chatter of birdsong outside her open window, a warm breeze fluttering past the curtains and into the room. The sun still rests below the horizon and the old wood-grain alarm clock reads 3:50am. It's ridiculously early, even by her standards, but the current occupants of the largest cabin have requested a sunrise trail ride, and she's not one to disappoint.

Slipping from bed and flicking on the bedside lamp, she stretches and reaches for what looks like a relatively clean pair of jeans (she really should get around to doing some laundry soon). She pairs the jeans with a tank top and pulls worn flannel over-top in an attempt to reclaim the lost warmth of her blankets.

Her parents are still sleeping soundly, so she moves quietly down the hall, stopping to hug a sleepy Duke on her way to the kitchen. He cracks an eye open just enough to give her a slightly unimpressed look and she presses a kiss to his nose, telling him to go back to sleep.

She's not overly hungry, but she toasts half a bagel, smearing it with cream cheese and holding it between her teeth as she steps into her boots. She eyes the sleeping coffee maker regretfully, cursing herself for not remembering to set the timer earlier last night. There's no time to make it now though; she needs to get out to the barn and start tacking up horses.

The lights in the barn are already on and the horses nicker loudly in greeting as she walks through the open doors, polishing off the last of her bagel. Killian greets her with a smile, pushing a wheelbarrow down the aisle, tossing hay into each stall.

"There's a mug of coffee there for you if want it, love," he tells her, nodding at the red travel mug on the work bench.

She practically lunges for it, sliding the tab and taking a cautious sip – it's the perfect temperature, flavoured with just a hint of cream, no sugar.

"You're amazing," she says appreciatively, swallowing another mouthful. "How did you know how I take my coffee?" she pauses, "better yet, how did you know I wouldn't have my own?"

He looks up, grinning at her as he brushes the loose hay from his jeans. "I pay attention to the little things." He sure does. It took Neal nearly two years to remember her coffee preferences. "As for knowing that you would forget to set your coffee machine for earlier? Let's call it a hunch." He parks the wheelbarrow out of the way and grabs his own mug. "Besides, I thought it best to play it safe, because honestly love, you without coffee?" he stops and winks at her, tilting his head, "bloody terrifying."

She groans and rolls her eyes. "You, buster, are very lucky I'm too busy savouring this to punch you."

"I suppose I'll take that as a thank you?" he jests.

"Thank you, Killian," she says, sighing dramatically.

The smile on his face is cheeky and adorable and he shifts closer to her, leaning into her personal space to set his coffee mug down on the bench behind her. It's the closest he's been in the week since Canada Day and she inhales deeply, a little bit overwhelmed by his proximity. Since that night on the porch and his whispered promise not to leave, he'd taken a step back, seemingly content to let her process things at her own pace, and ever since, she's been wondering just how long this charade of nonchalance would last.

He steps back slowly, smugly, _knowing_ that he's thrown her off balance again. "Let's get these horses ready, darling."

_Darling._ That's a new one. It sounds like sin rolling off his tongue and she silently curses him and his irresistible accent.

She occupies herself with quickly brushing and tacking up three of the horses, leaving him to deal with another three in stalls on the opposite side of the aisle. They need to get the horses ready and be over at the cabins by 4:30 if they plan on making it out to a decent spot with the guests in time to watch the sunrise. She doesn't have time to dwell on the new term of endearment or contemplate just how delicious it might be to press him up against a stall door and kiss him senseless.

Tightening the buckle on the last horses's bridle, she leads the mare from the stall, leaving her ground tied in the aisle while she attaches lead ropes to the other two horses. "You ready?" she asks, peeking into the stall where Killian is tightening the cinch on a black gelding.

"Aye, love, best be on our way."

Leading three horses within the narrow confines of the barn aisle-way can be a challenge, but thankfully the mares are well behaved and follow her willingly out the door. Once she's outside, she lines them up, the two with leads on the outside. Double checking the cinch on the middle horse, she mounts the palomino mare and loops the two leads around the horn in improvised quick release knots. Killian joins her a moment later and skillfully arranges the other three horses in the same fashion.

It's still fairly dark out as they head up the driveway, but hazy lavender has crept into the sky and there's enough light now that the trees are silhouetted against the approaching dawn. The guests (a group of 50-something ladies away on a girls-week) are awake and waiting outside the cabin when they arrive. Quietly, so they don't wake those still sleeping in the other cabins, they assign horses and get everyone quickly mounted. The guests had proven fairly competent on a trail ride yesterday, so she skips the usual speech detailing how to steer and stop, which way to lean when riding up or down a hill, and the finer points of getting your lazy ass of a horse to stop munching on grass.

Killian knows the trails well now, so she lets him take the lead, falling back to the end of the line between Joan and Linda.

"Thank you so much for waking up at this god-awful hour to do this for us, Emma," Linda says, reaching out to pat Emma on the arm.

Joan echoes the sentiment from her other side. "I've seen how hard you and that boy work," she nods ahead to where Killian is leading the way through the tall grass, "I do hope you're not missing out on too much sleep because of us."

Emma shakes her head, waiving off their concern. "It's really not a big deal. Besides, I can't remember the last time I went out on a sunrise trail ride, so really, I should be thanking you guys."

Linda looks appalled. "You mean to tell me that handsome man of yours hasn't taken you out here for a romantic sunrise ride?"

Joan shakes her head. "What is wrong with that boy?!"

Emma fights the urge to roll her eyes. Are they really so easily mistaken for a couple? Linda and Joan aren't the first guests to assume it, and she doubts they'll be the last.

"He's not mine. I mean we just work together, we're good friends."

Joan raises an eyebrow skeptically. "You keep telling yourself that, girl, ain't gonna make it true."

"We see the way he looks at you."

"Like he'd go to the ends of the earth just to see you smile."

"I tell ya, if I was 20 years younger and single, oh boy..."

"Tall, dark, and Irish."

"Looks damn fine on a horse too."

"What the hell is wrong with ya, girl?"

Emma is torn between laughing hysterically and crying. What the hell is wrong with her indeed? In the end she just shrugs. "Shitty timing, I guess."

"And by shitty timing, you mean some damn fool's gone and stomped all over that beautiful heart of yours, right?" Joan squeezes her shoulder sympathetically and Emma just chuckles wryly, nodding.

Stomped all over is right. There are scuff-marks on her heart she doesn't think will ever scrub out.

"Well, honey, whenever you're ready, I think you should give Irish over there a chance," Linda says, her smile turning wicked, "bet he has all sorts of tricks up his sleeve that could make you forget everything, including your own name."

The laugh that spills past Emma's lips is genuine and she smiles at the two crazy women, shaking her head, unbelievably grateful to be back here, working her family's ranch, meeting all sorts of kind and wonderful strangers – people who, despite the fact that they hardly know her, seem to care about her.

"I'll keep that in mind," she says, smiling as she pushes her horse forward into a jog to catch up to the other ladies riding several yards ahead. She chats briefly with them, recommending that they visit Granny's Diner when they tell her that they're looking to grab lunch in town later.

The trail narrows as they head up a heavily wooded incline, and Emma falls back to the end of the line as everyone shifts into single file to move through the trees.

When they finally emerge from the forest, they're standing on a rocky plateau, facing east and looking out over rolling hills and misty terrain. The sky is a dusty periwinkle now and a hint of golden orange leaches into the distant horizon, foretelling the sun's inevitable ascent. The ladies group together to watch and Killian swings his horse around to stand next to her.

He doesn't speak, just smiles warmly at her, studying her face openly in the pre-dawn light, and damn him, because she's starting to think that maybe Joan and Linda are right; the way he looks at her, like she's some esoteric being that he longs to know – it's breathtaking and more than a little bit terrifying.

Turning her sights back toward the sky, she can feel his eyes on her for a moment longer before he too, turns to face the rising sun. Slowly, one stuttered heartbeat at a time, the sun peeks over the distant hills in a blazing ball of warmth, scattering golden rays through the misty atmosphere and alighting gossamer glitter upon the grassy fields below. A flock of birds erupt, taking flight from a far off tree, and a warm breeze flutters through her hair, caressing her face as she closes her eyes and inhales the earthy scent of a beautiful summer's morning.

It's peace in the truest sense of the word, and as she smoothes her fingers over the mares silky neck, she thanks the fates for bringing her back here. She's never put much stock in fate or destiny, always believing that life is what you make of it, but she's starting to think that maybe, just maybe, everything happens for a reason.

Killian still faces the rising sun, so she takes the opportunity to study him, perched comfortably in his saddle, the fingers of his left hand clasped loosely around the reins, his right stroking idle patterns over the dark horse's shoulder. He's a bit scruffier than usual; stubble not as neatly trimmed, hair wayward in the gentle breeze, but it suits him, hell, everything seems to suit him.

A subtle smirk tugs at his lips, and she's fairly certain she's been caught staring. She knows it for sure when he shifts sideways in his saddle to face her. They're close enough that his knee bumps into hers. "Enjoying the view, love?" He raises an eyebrow and grins at her salaciously, and there's no way in hell he's simply referencing the sunrise.

So she shrugs. "I guess it's all right." And he laughs, shaking his head.

They bring the ladies back to the cabins and wave goodbye for the time being as they lead the horses back down the driveway to the barn. It's only just after 6am and already the air is hot and thick with humidity, the sun shining brightly through the haze as it continues its climb into the sky.

Her parents are up now and in the barn preparing grain when they dismount and tie the horses to the corral outside. Tugging the flannel over her head, she sighs in relief as the slight breeze gusts over her bare arms. Killian removes his sweater as well, revealing a thin grey t-shirt, already damp with sweat between his shoulder blades.

Not so briefly she wonders if he'll decide to work shirtless in this heat.

She starts un-tacking the horses, pulling the saddles from their backs and sitting them just inside the doorway as Killian connects and uncoils a hose from the side of the barn. She puts the tack away, saying good morning to her parents as Killian hoses off the sweaty horses outside.

When she returns with two rubber sweat-scrapers, intending to help him remove the excess water from the horse's coats, Killian is bent at the waist, pouring cold water over his head and the back of his neck. After a moment he switches the water off and straightens, smiling at her, and oh dear lord, she is entirely unprepared for the sight that greets her.

Water runs down his face, darkening his eyelashes, dripping from his nose and beading in his scruff. Moisture seeps into the fabric of his collar and after he runs a hand through his hair, he grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it up to dry his face, exposing his stomach and the dark trail of hair that disappears below the low-slung waistband of his jeans.

Biting her lip, she whimpers silently, and it's probably only the fact that her parents are less than 30 feet away in the barn that stops her from throwing herself at him.

Tossing one of the sweat scrapers to him, she retreats to the far side on the closest horse and does her best to distract herself from the unfairly attractive man who _clearly_ enjoys tormenting her far too much. She of half a mind to grab the hose and treat him to the same show – see how he handles revenge, but that's a dangerous path and she's not sure she's quite ready to tread water that far from shore.

By the time the horses are all fed and turned out for the day, she's hot and sweaty and miles passed thirsty, so she heads to the house, looking forward to an ice cold glass of water. There's a large cardboard box on the porch that wasn't there when she left this morning, and she crouches down to look at the mailing label. It's her name and her parents address, written in Neal's messy script, and she frowns, standing up and all but kicking the box sideways. Whatever its contents, she's done without them for over a month, she's not going to darken this beautiful day by delving into the past. She has a day full of guiding trail rides and Ruby's birthday party tonight to look forward to; _nothing_ is going to spoil her good mood.

In the fridge she finds a fresh jug of her mother's homemade lemonade, so she opts for that over water and fills two bottles, carrying them back out the to the barn with her.

"Hey, peanut, hold up a second." Her father stops her part way across the driveway. "Billy has a spot open in the shop today, so I was thinking of taking the bug in this later afternoon, getting a tune up? You okay with taking the truck out to Ruby's tonight?"

She nods. "Thanks Dad, make sure to tell him the clutch is sticking again. The keys are on my bedside table."

"Is Killian heading out to Ruby's party tonight too?"

She hasn't really discussed it with him, but Ruby did invite him, so she assumes he will be making an appearance. "I think so. I guess he'll drive himself out later though. I was planning on leaving just after dinner and picking up Belle so we can get ready together – have some girl time, give Ruby her presents."

"Don't worry about making it home tonight, you or Killian, I don't want either of you driving drunk. Your mother and I can handle things around here tomorrow morning," David insists.

She rolls her eyes, laughing. "Yes, Daaaaad." She hasn't had a drinking and driving lecture from her father since she was 18, but now, instead of cringing, it makes her smile.

When she enters the barn, Killian is hard at work mucking stalls and her mother is seated in the small office, talking on the phone, politely informing people that they're fully booked for trail rides today, and that if they wish to book on weekends, it's usually wise to do so at least a week in advance. She hands Killian his lemonade and he takes it with a grin, drinking greedily as she grabs another wheelbarrow and pitchfork and starts helping.

The remainder of the morning passes quickly as they complete the barn chores and when Mary-Margaret brings out a tray of sandwiches, fresh strawberries, and a new batch of lemonade for lunch, they break in the shade of a dense hawthorn, deciding which horses to take out in each group for the afternoon trail rides.

The afternoon is an adventure. Most of the trail rides proceed without incident, but during the last trip of the day, one of the younger mares spooks at a great blue heron taking off from the still water of a nearby pond and bolts with her rider. The man on the runaway horse bails from the saddle within seconds and Killian calmly requests that everyone dismount and hold onto their horses while he checks on the fallen rider. With everyone safely on foot, Emma takes off after the loose horse, finally slowing and catching up to the mare that now stands completely relaxed, grazing in a patch of rich clover.

When she brings both horses back to the group, she's relieved to find the man a little sore, but otherwise uninjured. He's angry, insisting that he will not get back on the lunatic of a horse that tried to kill him, so she politely offers to switch mounts with him, fighting the urge to roll her eyes (this is the reason all of their guests are required to sign waivers before mounting a horse – otherwise she has no doubt the man would consider suing just to soothe his bruised ego).

By the time they return to the barn and settle all the horses in for the evening, Mary Margaret is poking her head out the door and calling them for dinner. She still finds it a little strange that Killian seems to eat dinner with them more often than not, and while she assumes he is perfectly capable of cooking for himself, her mother has never been one to risk anyone going hungry.

Stuffed white-fish and homemade sweet potato fries sit on the table next to a garden salad, and Emma washes her hands quickly before sitting down and digging in. It's another perk to living at home again; she never ate this well when she was living with Neal.

During supper they discuss guest scheduling and the pros and cons of taking on a few new horses while retiring some of the older ones. Her father informs her that the bug should be ready to be picked up at the shop tomorrow afternoon, and she confirms that Killian is coming to Ruby's party, giving him the address and letting him know that it officially starts around 9:30, but he's welcome to show up whenever.

When they finish eating, her parents insist on taking care of the dishes, so she slips away to shower and gather her things. Tossing Ruby's present and some makeup in her bag, she's in the middle of deciding what to wear when a text from Ruby arrives (_I'm dressing you tonight Ems. Bring those gold pumps! And don't even think about saying no!). _Normally she would object to having her outfit selected by Ruby (she knows it's going to be fairly indecent), but who is she to deny the birthday girl? So closing the closet, she just tugs on a comfortable pair of shorts and an old t-shirt, grabbing the ridiculous high heels and shoving them into her bag.

Killian is on the riding mower, cutting the lawn on a methodic diagonal, so she tosses her stuff in the truck and pulls up to where he's working.

He kills the engine on the mower when she leans out the window. "I'll see you later?" she calls.

"Aye, I'll head over after night check – should arrive around 10." He adjusts his baseball cap and seems to ponder something for a second so she waits, wishing the truck had functioning air-conditioning. "Is there some sort of dress code for this affair, love?"

She laughs. _An excellent question._ "I'm really not sure. Ruby is dressing me so I can guarantee something scandalous..."

Killian raises an eyebrow, smirking.

"And obviously that doesn't answer your question at all. Something casual but nice I guess? You'll be good as long as you're not covered in horse shit."

He chuckles. "All right, love, I'm sure I can manage that. Drive safe," he tells her, starting up the riding mower again, and she continues up the driveway, a stupid grin on her face.

On her way to pick up Belle, she makes a quick stop at the liquor store, grabbing a bottle of pinot grigio and Ruby's favourite, raspberry sour puss. She knows Ruby will have plenty of alcohol, but she's never been one to show up at a party empty handed.

It's just after 7 when they arrive at Ruby's and she parks the truck in the small lot at the back of the old two-story Victorian. Emma gives Ruby her present first – a donation to the local wildlife rehabilitation centre that Ruby frequently supports and a handmade glass wolf ornament that she picked up months ago at an antique shop in the city. Belle's gift is a piece of aboriginal art featuring a wolf pack, hand painted on intricately carved wood, and Ruby thanks them both, hugging them tightly.

They open the bottle of wine and next couple hours are spent laughing and rifling through Ruby's extensive closest as they all take turns trying on outfit after outfit until Ruby finally claps her hands, nodding in approval when Emma steps out of the bathroom in a blood red halter dress that exposes the majority of her back and far more leg than would normally be deemed appropriate.

"Damn girl!" Ruby exclaims. "Okay, we're done here. You're wearing that!"

Tugging at the short, flowing skirt of the dress, Emma groans. "Ruby..."

"Nope. You're wearing it. End of discussion," Ruby states firmly.

Emma rolls her eyes. Maybe she should just be happy that at least as far as cleavage is concerned, the dress offers more coverage than some of the others she tried on.

Belle ends up in a relatively modest blue lace dress, and Ruby finally settles on some black strappy thing that boldly toes the line between clothing and lingerie. With their hair and make-up done, Emma feels more like they should be hitting up a club in the city, rather than heading downstairs for a house party, but Ruby has never let small town life stop her from going all out in the past, and she certainly doesn't seem inclined to do so now.

Downstairs the house is already prepped for the party. Couches and chairs have been shifted to the perimeter of the spacious living room, the coffee table is tucked away beneath a window to leave the floor open, and Ruby's laptop is connected to the surround sound. The kitchen counter holds a decent stock of alcohol and plastic cups, and a large metal trough on the floor is filled with ice and various kinds of soda, plenty of room left for others to chill their own supply when they arrive. At the side of the house, chairs are arranged around a fire pit on the lawn, and a fold out table is set up for games.

Ruby breaks out the tequila and Belle begrudgingly accepts one small shot as they toast to birthdays and friendship, the bite of lemon between her teeth helping to chase away the harsh flavour.

She has no real plans to get hammered tonight; hangovers hit her much harder now than they did when she was 19, but Ruby is a terrible influence and by the time guests start arriving, she's already feeling the warm buzz of alcohol flowing through her veins.

The music is loud and the night is warm and she catches up with people she hasn't seen since high school. For once she's thankful that news travels fast in small towns, because by now everyone knows why she's back home and they're careful to avoid any mention of Neal. She gets roped into a couple rounds of flip-cup outside by the fire, and at some point she ditches her heels, opting instead to walk around barefoot, toes curling in the cool grass.

Grabbing another drink from the kitchen, she heads back out to the fire. It's dark out now, the sky clear save for the odd wispy cloud, and she finds Belle standing off to the side, chatting with Killian and a British guy she's never met.

"Finally! You made it!" she says to Killian as she approaches.

"Aye..." he trails off when he gets a good look at her dress, his eyes raking quickly over her body in a heated glance, and maybe it's the alcohol talking, but she's suddenly very glad she let Ruby force her into wearing it. He's looked at her in a number of different ways over the last month or so, but never with such open desire, and she finds she likes it; the way his pupils darken and threaten to overtake the blue of his irises, the dart of his tongue against his lower lip.

Dangerous thoughts filter through her mind (and she lets them) as she takes in his attire; dark blue jeans and a black dress-shirt, sleeves rolled up, un-tucked and unbuttoned enough to reveal more of the chest hair that she's only ever gotten teasing hints at. She wants to reach out and run her fingers through it, curl into the heat of him and...

Belle coughs, breaking the spell. "Uh Emma, Killian, this is Will, he's new to town and has been helping me out at the library."

Taking a large swallow of her vodka and cranberry spritzer, she gathers her wits enough to plaster a smile on her face and shake Will's extended hand.

With pleasantries exchanged, Killian seems to notice that she's barefoot. "Lost your shoes, love?" he asks, biting back a teasing grin.

Looking down at her feet, she nods. "Grass, stilettos, alcohol – not a great mixture and I didn't feel like breaking an ankle." Then, linking her arm with his, she pulls him toward the house. "Let's go get you a drink."

Belle and Will remain talking in the yard, standing close and she definitely maybe for sure thinks they're more than friends or colleagues and that makes her giggle because pretty much everyone on the face of the earth assumes the same thing about her and Killian and she remembers some old elementary school saying, that to assume is to make an ass out of you and me, and god she hasn't been giggly drunk in a long time and it's kind of amazing.

Killian just looks at her, shaking his head in silent amusement as she pulls him up the steps and through the side door into the kitchen, her hand wrapped around his forearm, strong muscle and soft hair beneath her finger tips.

It's quiet inside, there are a few people in the living room, but almost everyone else seems to be out in the warm night air by the fire. Standing at the kitchen counter she releases his arm and ghosts her fingers over the bottles, reading labels. "Rum. You want rum right?" She holds up two different bottles, offering them to him. "White or spiced?"

Shaking his head, he takes the bottles, fingers brushing against hers as he removes them from her grasp and sets them gently back down on the counter, pulling his flask from his back pocket instead. "I've brought my own, darling."

"Right," she says, balancing herself with a hand against his chest as she reaches behind him for her drink. She's practically leaning against him, close enough to breathe in his enticing scent and somewhere in her alcohol muddled brain, a little voice cautions her against it. She ignores it though, leaning closer, smiling flirtatiously, eyes flickering down the tanned skin of his neck, to the exposed chest hair, her fingers drumming a steady beat over his heart in time with the music. When she looks back up he's watching her closely, lips parted, breath shallow, and she sways into him, bare toes bumping against his shoes.

"Emma," he breathes her name on a shaky exhale, quiet and reverent, and his empty hand comes up, pressing warm and feather-light against the bare skin of her lower back.

And just as she rises up on her toes, the screen door flies open, clattering loudly against the wall, Ruby and Victor and several others piling through, laughing loudly and startling them apart. A good portion of her drink sloshes over the side of her cup and onto the floor as she steps back, and Killian quickly busies himself with ripping paper towel from the roll and cleaning up the mess.

Sitting what's left of her drink back down on the counter, she rinses her hands in the sink, quietly cursing the interruption, because now she's over-thinking things and it sucks, because for a second there it was just so much easier to _feel_.

"Emma! Killian!" Ruby cheers, grabbing the bottle of tequila. "Shots!"

Killian politely declines, mixing himself a glass of rum and coke, and Emma nods, accepting the shot – maybe it'll help her maintain the blissful lack of concern that she's struggling to cling to.

When they head back outside, Killian follows her, watching her closely, never straying far from her side even when she gets drawn into a game of beer pong, and soon enough the alcohol is working its way through her system again and she's practically leaning into his shoulder, the solid warmth of him an unfailing support as they stand by the fire with Belle and Will, laughing over Ruby's impromptu game of limbo.

Over the thump of music and constant chatter, she hears the rumble of tires on gravel, but pays little attention to it; she's more focused on the press of Killian's hand on her hip, steadying her when she less than gracefully makes her way over to a row of recently vacated chairs. Sitting down with dramatic flourish, she stretches out her legs, wiggling her toes in the warm grass by the bonfire. Killian takes a seat next to her, continuing his conversation with Will about European football, and she slouches in her chair, listening to them talk, basking in the warm night air as she watches the flames swirl together, dancing up into the midnight sky.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?!" she hears Belle curse angrily. It's shockingly foul language from her friend, and she looks up, searching the yard for the source of the commotion.

What she sees sends her stomach plummeting to her feet, shock paralyzing her in her seat for a second before anger and anxiety and hatred and embarrassment and disgust take over, shaking their way through her shoulders, down to tightly clenched fists, nails biting crescent moons into her palms.

Neal stands not 20 feet away, his arm around Tamara's waist, frowning in boredom as Belle proceeds to chew him out.

She doesn't wait around to hear what Belle is saying, or to wonder what will happen when Ruby catches on. One look is more than enough, and she stands quickly, toppling her chair and the rest of her drink as she turns and flees into the house. She doesn't stop until she's upstairs and safely locked away behind Ruby's bedroom door, slumping down with her back pinned to the wooden surface.

Damn him! God fucking damn him! How _dare_ he show up here! And with _her_?

"FUCK!" she seethes, punching the wall next to her. Her brain briefly acknowledges what _should_ register as pain, but there's enough alcohol coursing through her veins that she doesn't really feel it. She hits the wall again, rattling a picture frame from its nail, sending it careening to the carpeted floor. It lands harmlessly with a muffled thud and she hits the wall once more, wishing it had broken. There's a certain sort of relief in destruction, however temporary it might be, and she craves it desperately.

Restless and fucking pissed, she stands, picking up the picture. She sets it on the desk and starts pacing the room, worrying at the red skin of her knuckles, poking at them where they're raw and red, but she feels no pain, at least not physically, and she wants to scream, go back downstairs and punch Neal in the goddamn face until she feels something, anything, other than violent indignation.

A soft knock on the door startles her from her agitated deliberation, and she stills immediately, holding her breath.

"Emma? Love, please let me in?" Killian's voice comes soft and hesitant from the other side of the barrier and she releases her breath, moving to the door, pressing her ear against the surface.

"It's just me," he confirms, answering her unspoken question, and she sighs, flipping the lock and tugging open the door to allow him in.

Once he's in the room, she shuts the door behind him, locking it again. He's quiet and still and looks incredibly concerned, so she walks into him, resting her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist in hug she's only just realizing that she desperately needs. His arms come around her, warm and strong and she presses her nose into the open v of his shirt, feeling as much as hearing his breath catch when she rubs her cheek against the coarse hair that resides there.

"Emma..." His voice sounds like a prayer; a warning and a promise, and she wiggles her fingers under his shirt to ghost across his lower back. He's a heady mixture of heat and distraction, and she tilts her head up to look at him. Uncertainly is written all over his face, eyes dark as night in the dim light of the bedroom, and she nuzzles against his jaw, delighting in the burn of scruff against her skin and the ragged exhale he releases into her hair.

His fingers come up to tangle in her curls, and when he whispers her name on another shaky breath, she kisses him.

He tastes like rum and summer and sunshine, bold but sweet and oh so wonderful. He's gentle and patient, following her lead, hands cupping her head and hip lightly, and god she wants more. _So much more. _

Deepening the kiss, she groans at the warm heat of his mouth, fisting her hands in the lapels of his shirt and driving him backwards to the door, up against the wood, losing herself in frenzied sensation. Killian's hand climbs from her hip to her back, fingers trailing fire up her spine and she melts into him, pressing herself to him, hip to hip against the telltale evidence of his interest, frantically pulling at the buttons of his shirt until the fabric parts and she can reach inside, fingers combing through his chest hair, nails scraping lightly over his nipples as she follows the trail of hair down to his belt.

When she reaches for the buckle, he releases a heavy sigh and places his hand over hers, halting her progress and breaking the kiss. With his forehead pressed against hers, their noses bumping together, he presses a soft kiss to the corner of her lips. "We can't do this," he whispers, his thumb stroking over her fingers where they still cling hopefully to his belt.

He's sweet and way too fucking honourable and disappointment swells in her chest, a spark refuelling her earlier anger. "Why not?" she whispers back harshly, her voice growing louder as she speaks, "and don't you dare tell me you don't want me, because I can feel _exactly_ how much you want me." She wrenches one of her hands from his grasp, sliding it down to cup his erection through the rough fabric of his jeans.

A strangled groan slips past his lips and suddenly he's spinning her so it's _her_ back against the door, pinning her wrists to her sides. "Bloody hell, Emma, _stop_!" he growls darkly, keeping hold of her wrists but distancing their bodies.

She squirms vainly in his grasp, glaring up at him. "Why? Give me one good reason why we shouldn't do this!"

"You're upset."

"Hell yes I'm upset!"

"Emma," he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, "this won't make you feel any better." She raises an eyebrow, looking at him skeptically. "At least not in the long run," he amends.

"I don't care!" she shouts, trying again to press away from where he has her restrained against the door.

"But I do!" he shouts back. "You're upset and you're more than a little drunk and it doesn't matter how much I want this, how much I want you, and trust me when I say that I do want you darling, _badly_, but I will not take advantage of you. So when we do this, _if_ we do this, it will be at the right time and for the right reasons."

Killian's voice is quiet again and incredibly sincerely as he finishes speaking, and when he releases her wrists, she slumps against his chest, all the fight disappearing from her suddenly exhausted limbs, the wind gone from her sails. _Goddamn him._

"Why do you have to be such a fucking gentleman?" she mumbles against his shoulder and he chuckles, not dignifying the question with a response. Her nose is stuffed up and there are tears in her eyes that she doesn't remember crying and she's fairly certain her make-up is smudged all over his shirt, but he just hugs her, running his hand through her hair, his cheek pressed to her temple.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess," she hiccups, fists curling into the still unbuttoned halves of his shirt.

"You're not a mess, Emma," he whispers and she feels him press a kiss to her hairline. "You're just hurting and that's perfectly normal." He pauses. "I take it that was Neal you saw down there? And the neighbour?"

She pulls back just far enough to look at him, affection and concern and understanding bright in his eyes. "How did you know?"

"I'm a perceptive man, love. I saw the look on your face; it wasn't hard to put two and two together."

Accepting his answer, she leans back into his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin. "I fucking _hate_ him," she spits, "I was doing okay, he's hardly crossed my mind in days, then he shows up here at Ruby's party, uninvited, with _her_... and_ fuck_."

She starts crying again and _god_, when did she become this pathetic weepy drunk?

"I'm sorry..." she apologises again as she hiccups and yawns at the same time.

She feels him take a step back and she clings to him, not wanting to release him, following him as he walks her to the bed and seats her at the foot of it. Crouching down in front of her, he wipes the tears from her cheeks. "I'll take you home if you'd like," he offers, "I've only had the one drink, so I can drive."

She nods, reaching out to cup his jaw, tracing his lower lip with her thumb; the alcohol, overwhelming emotions, and a long day working in the sun are quickly catching up to her, and now all she really wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep for 12 hours straight.

"Where are the clothes you were wearing earlier, love?" Killian asks, standing and looking around the room.

She points to the blue backpack tucked away next to Ruby's dresser, and he brings it over, setting it next to her. "I'll wait in the hall; call me when you've changed."

It's tempting to feign helpless and ask for his assistance, but she's not wearing a bra underneath this ridiculous dress and she's definitely pushed her luck enough for one night, so she stands and grabs the bag, heading toward Ruby's bathroom. "You can wait in here; I'll change in the bathroom."

She leaves Killian standing in the bedroom and closes the bathroom door, splashing cold water on her face, wiping away make-up and tears, and quickly changing back into her comfy clothes. Her hand aches now from punching the wall, and she winces as she flexes her fingers. Sliding her running shoes back onto her feet, she briefly tries to remember where she left her heels; was it in the kitchen or out on the lawn? In the end she decides it doesn't really matter, she'll get them back from Ruby some other time.

Killian is sitting on the bed, his shirt buttoned again, waiting patiently and he smiles, standing to take her bag when she pushes open the bathroom door.

"Do you have the keys?" he asks. "I'll get you settled in the truck then let Ruby know we're heading out."

"Over there." She points at Ruby's dresser. "What about your Jeep?" If he's driving the truck, he'll have to leave his vehicle here.

"We can come back and get it tomorrow," he reasons, grabbing the keys and offering his arm.

The house is still mostly empty when they slip quietly down the stairs and out the back door to where the truck is parked. Helping her climb up into the passenger seat, he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and presses a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll be back in a moment, love."

The truck door closes gently and she can still feel the press of his lips upon her skin as she leans her head back, resting her eyes, muffled lyrics and the dull thud of bass sounding from the party outside. Drifting in a haze of exhaustion, she wraps her arms around herself, missing the warmth of Killian's embrace.

Minutes later the slam of the car door jolts her back to awareness, and she opens her eyes as Killian climbs into the driver's seat, offering her a sweater. She takes it gratefully, pulling it on, cocooning herself in the comforting scent of him.

Then he holds out a bottle of Gatorade and a couple of Advil. "Take those and drink at least half of that," he insists when she frowns. "Trust me; you'll thank me in the morning."

She wants to tell him she didn't have that much to drink (even though it's an outright lie), that she's just tired from being out in the sun all day and waking up extra early, but even her exhausted mind knows that's a shitty argument and that alcohol or not, she probably needs to replenish her electrolytes.

Reluctantly taking the bottle from his hand, she notices his knuckles are bruised and bloodied; much worse than her own.

"Killian... what did you do?" she asks slowly, placing the drink in the cup holder and taking his hand.

"I may have seen fit to break the bloody bastard's nose." He seems to be torn between pride and shame, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips, and the ridiculous laughter that rises from her chest quickly turns into hiccups as tears pool in her eyes.

_God, he's amazing. _

"I'm sorry, love, I shouldn't have." He slides across the bench, pulling her to him and she goes willingly, pressing her face to his chest, momentarily wondering why she doesn't make a point of hugging him more often. The thought has her laughing through her tears and she nuzzles against him, linking her fingers together against his lower back.

"Don't apologize, ass-hole deserves it. I'm glad."

"Then why are you crying again, love?" The poor guy sounds confused, but his fingers never halt in their soothing pull through her hair.

It really is an excellent question. She wishes she had an answer.

"Dunno," she mumbles, "too many feelings."

Killian chuckles and she feels it against her cheek where it presses into the warmth of his chest. "I'm tired," she says through a yawn.

He sits her up and buckles her in, and she pouts like a child at the loss of contact, somewhere in the haze of alcohol and exhaustion still able to scold herself for being so pathetic.

She takes the Advil from him, swallowing it as he starts the truck, and it's a challenge to drink three quarters of the bottle of Gatorade, but she does so at his insistence, sitting it back in the cup holder when her eyes refuse to stay open any longer.

She drifts in and out of consciousness when the truck makes the familiar turn down the driveway to the house, and she hears Killian's voice calling to her through the fog when they come to a stop.

"Come on, love. We're home now," he tells her, rubbing her shoulder, but she's so comfortable and tired and she doesn't want to move, so shaking her head and mumbling "no" seems like the way to go.

She hears his door close and then hers open and he's fumbling for her seatbelt for a moment before scooping her up into his arms, warm and strong as he carries her up the steps and into the house. Through the obscurity of half-sleep she can hear her parent's voices, concerned and questioning, and she feels the vibration of Killian's answer through his chest, but she can't make out the words and doesn't really care to.

There's a vague memory of clinging to him as he tries to settle her into the bed, laughing as he pulls off her shoes, and the warm swell of content affection cradling her heart as he tucks the covers up around her shoulders and whispers goodnight.

The last thing she feels before sleep claims her, is the gentle card of his fingers through her hair and the brush of his lips against her cheek.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hello my lovelies! I know it's been an atrociously long wait, so thank you so much for being patient with me! Here's the new chapter!

* * *

Emma wakes slowly, cautiously opening one eye and then the other, squinting against the bright sunshine that streams in through her curtains. The clock on her night-stand reads 11:47am. Groaning, she pulls the pillow over her head.

It's not that her head hurts all that much, because really, other than the fact that she could definitely use a glass of water and a toothbrush to scrub the cotton from her mouth, she feels surprisingly not that hung-over.

Nope, the problem is that consciousness has brought with it every word and touch and feeling from the night before; a rush of memories all neatly wrapped up in the fact that she's still cocooned in Killian's sweater. It smells like him and she's fairly certain she has no intention whatsoever of returning it to its rightful owner.

Because that would mean _facing_ its rightful owner, and she's not sure that's something she wants to do.

_God, what was she thinking?_

It's not really regret that she feels; at least not for kissing him. That's been a long time coming, and she's not surprised that everything boiled over. It's not necessarily kissing him that she regrets; it's her _reason_ for kissing him. She regrets that it was born out of drunken desperation and anger and sadness, and that goddamn fucking Neal drove her to it.

And, god, she really is going to have to face Killian, because at the very least she needs to thank him, thank him for stopping her, stopping them, before she took things too far.

_Fuck. _

She practically threw herself at him; was willing to do the deed, quick and dirty, right up against the door. And he was right, in the long run it wouldn't have made her feel any better, because if the embarrassment she feels right now is anything to go by, she can't even imagine the horror she'd be facing if they had actually had sex.

She still can't believe he had the strength to turn her down. Most guys she's known over the years, Neal included, wouldn't have thought twice about accepting her advances.

Maybe it's a sign she's be hanging out with the wrong sort of people?

_(He holds the door open for her. "You're an ass," – biting words. Then his teasing grin – "I believe the word you're looking for, love, is gentleman.") _The words sound in her head, thick with his accent; a memory from back when he was little more than a stranger.

He's not a stranger now though. Far from it. He's a friend? Something more? She's not certain, but one small fact remains, whatever he is, whatever they are, he's a gentleman. She can't deny that. He's a gentleman, a genuinely nice guy, and that somehow makes her feel even worse, because clearly he feels something for her.

Memories from last night are still right there on the edge of her consciousness, tangible things, and she can remember his voice turning soft as he tells her just how much he wants her, but that he won't take advantage of her emotional distress and lowered inhibitions to have her. He wants to wait for the right time and the right reasons, and _fuck_... She turns her head into her pillow, muffling a groan. _Can he get any more perfect?_

He's a romantic sap and she's never experienced that in a guy before (certainly not Neal), and she punches her pillow, wincing when her bruised knuckles protest at the contact, then laughing, because he's got matching injuries – he broke Neal's nose, and oh how she wishes she could have been there to see that, to hear what she assumes must have been a satisfying crack.

He's pretty much perfect, and she's just a mess. What he sees in her, she can't comprehend.

Although maybe she's gone and thoroughly fucked that up now; shown him what a disaster she really is.

Pulling the covers up over her head, she blocks out the light from the room, wishing she could go back and maybe have a few less shots of tequila. Hell, she'd prefer to erase most of the night, because the fact that Neal is back in town is something that she doesn't want to deal with.

She has no idea what he was doing at Ruby's party, why he showed up, especially with _Tamara_ in tow, and she doesn't really care to learn. She wants to go back to steadfastly forgetting that he ever existed. And whatever he's doing in town, she hopes he doesn't plan to stay.

Then there's the matter of approaching Killian again after all of this, because as much as she wants to pretend that it didn't happen, that it doesn't change things between them; it did and it sure as hell does.

And now she thinks that maybe she should have had _more_ to drink; enough to completely forget all of this, because right now it's all vivid and clear and she can still feel his lips on hers, taste him against her tongue, still hear the whisper of her name on his lips as his fingers tangled in her hair, all wrapped in the scent of him that still clings to the sweater she wears.

And she's well and truly screwed, because now that she's had a taste, she only wants more.

She tries to stop it, but her mind breaks free from her struggling grasp and paints pictures of them together upon the insides of her eyelids. They're not the scandalous sort she expects. No, these are sweet and fairly innocent; laughing together over casual touches and stolen kisses, waking up with the sun to the feel of him pressed to her back, arms holding her close.

They're all whispered moments of quiet affection and fuck if she doesn't ache for that, but she doesn't want to be, _can't be_, the only thing holding him here, tying him to this foreign country so far away from his home and what's left of his family.

_What if she isn't enough?_

She certainly wasn't for Neal.

And while somewhere, deep down, she believes him when she says he's not going anywhere, that he won't let her down, she's still terrified.

The thought sits heavy in her chest and she blinks back traitorous tears, resolving to tuck it all away for now, to ignore it for a while longer, because her bladder feels fit to burst and her mouth tastes much like she imagines a mouthful of desert sand might, and despite all the alcohol, her stomach is not the slightest bit queasy, and at the moment she wants nothing more than coffee and a greasy plate of bacon and hash browns.

Flipping the covers back, she slowly sits upright, stretching, cracking her back as she takes in how her backpack is hanging from a hook on the wall and how her shoes are neatly positioned beneath it.

She remembers Killian offering to drive her home, changing in Ruby's bathroom, hugging him and being buckled into her seat. She remembers downing the Advil and Gatorade he'd given her (probably why she feels relatively human this morning), but after that she must have dozed off, because arriving at home and ending up in her bed are little more than vague flashes of muffled conversation and hazy warmth.

There's a distinct possibility that Killian carried her to bed – she never would have bothered tucking everything away so neatly, and somewhere in the recesses of her mind, there's a foggy memory of an arm behind her knees and another across her back, the solid strength of him rumbling through his chest as he spoke words that she can't remember.

Finally she decides that whatever happened, happened. There's nothing she can do to change it now, so she rises and pulls off her clothes, leaving Killian's sweater on the bed and tossing the rest in the general direction of the laundry hamper as she trudges to the bathroom.

She drinks from the tap and brushes her teeth before turning on the shower and stepping beneath the warm spray. The next thirty minutes are spent dawdling, taking far longer than necessary to complete the simple task of washing her hair and her body.

Sometimes standing in the shower for ages is a luxury, but right now it's mostly just an attempt at putting off the day, at avoiding reality. When the water runs cold, she cranks the knob clockwise and pulls the shower curtain aside, wrapping herself in a towel.

A messy half-ponytail, ratty cotton shorts and a faded too-large t-shirt make up some semblance of an outfit, and before heading to the kitchen, she drags her hamper down the hall, shoving a hastily sorted load in the washing machine. She may be living at home again, and while her mother does a lot to help out, making sure she has clean clothes is not one of those things.

She finds her mother in the kitchen, standing at the stove, piling bacon and several spoonfuls of scrambled eggs onto a plate where hash browns already wait. Her mother grabs a mug of steaming coffee and sets it down next to the plate at the table. "Sit. Eat," Mary Margaret instructs, doing a terrible job of hiding a knowing smile.

Doing as she's told, Emma sits down at the table, digging in, ravenous and trying her best to ignore her mother's watchful look. She makes it about a quarter of the way through her food before looking up and rolling her eyes. "If you've got something to say, can you just say it?" she demands around a mouthful of ketchup covered eggs.

"Are you going to tell me what happened last night?" her mother asks, nodding at her bruised knuckles. She doesn't sound mad, more curious than anything.

"If you insist."

"I insist." Mary Margaret crosses her arms, waiting expectantly.

Putting down her fork and taking a sip of her coffee, Emma silently curses her mother's curiosity. This is one of those things that has her wishing she still lived alone.

"I had a little bit too much to drink," she admits reluctantly, "then Neal showed up with Tamara. I got upset, punched a wall, and Killian offered to drive me home."

It's an extremely abbreviated recount of events, but she doesn't want to mention that she kissed Killian, that she practically threw herself at him, and that afterwards he broke Neal's nose. She doesn't want to paint any of it in an unfavourable light, because the simple truth is, friend or not, Killian works for her parents, and while her father would probably shake his hand for breaking Neal's nose, she's not sure the same can be said for the fact that they almost went several steps past kissing.

_Best to just sweep all that under the rug..._

"You forgot the part where he broke Neal's nose," her mother teases, "and the fact that he had to carry you into the house and all the way to your bed because when he tried to put you down, you whined like a small child and wouldn't let go."

_Or not._

Hanging her head, she groans as heat rushes into her face, cheeks going bright red with embarrassment, because Killian carrying her drunk ass to bed is bad enough, but hearing that she refused to let go of him is just so much worse.

A glance up confirms that her mother is rather amused, struggling to hold in her laughter.

She's not sure what to say or how to respond, so eventually she just shrugs and says, "Not my finest moment, huh?"

"Could have been worse," her mother insists, still laughing as she finally turns away and sets to work on the dishes, "you could have kissed him or done something else really embarrassing."

Emma nearly chokes on her coffee, clearing her throat and coughing quietly as she flames bright red once more. Thankfully the running water drowns out her sputtering, and by the time her mother turns back around, she's managed to compose herself.

"Your father and I are taking care of the trail rides this afternoon. Figured you and Killian could both use a day to rest," Mary Margaret says, folding the dish towel neatly over the handle of the oven. "Killian is cleaning tack this afternoon, but if you asked, I'm sure he'd drive you into town to pick up the bug from the shop."

"We need to get his jeep from Ruby's too," she says, trying to figure out how they'd manage that, "so I guess we'll just have to wait until one of you is free later..."

"No need. He and your father already drove out there this morning to get it."

Right. Uncomfortable car ride into town it is.

She hugs her mother goodbye and finishes up her breakfast in silence, taking her time washing the plate and the fork and the mug as she works up the nerve to approach Killian. When the kitchen is spotless and her laundry is switched and there's really nothing left to stave off the inevitable, she tugs on her boots and drags her feet all the way out to the barn.

But when she gets there, the aisles are dark and quiet. The horses are all turned out for the day and her parents have already left on the afternoon's first trail ride. Duke lounges in the shade by the open doors and thumps his tail happily against the ground when he sees her.

"Where'd Killian run off to, huh boy?" she asks the dog, crouching down to scratch behind his ears.

Duke looks longingly up at the apartment above the garage, bumping his head against her knee and barking softly.

"He didn't invite you along for lunch? How rude!" she jokes as Duke flops over and exposes his belly.

While rubbing Duke's belly, she contemplates waiting around in the barn for Killian to come back. She could even head up to the apartment and approach him there; she doesn't think she would be unwelcome, but that's hardly neutral turf and maybe she's a little bit of a coward, because suddenly, not approaching him at all seems like an excellent option.

So before she can change her mind, and before Killian can return to the stables, she grabs a pair of clip-on reins from the tack room, and makes her way out to the mare's field. She catches one of the ponies; a white-grey mare named Sophie (nicknamed Sofa, because she's really _that_ comfortable), and quickly attaches the reins to the halter, leading the horse from the field.

She tugs Sophie up alongside the gate and uses the metal rungs as a step-up to mount. Settling onto the mare's broad back, she gathers the reins, enjoying the feel of silken fur against her mostly bare legs. It's been ages since she's ridden bareback, without a saddle between her and the horse, and she's missed the effortless connection it offers; the feel of strong muscles flexing and extending beneath her thighs, the twitching shudder of skin as Sophie fends off the odd biting fly.

Before nudging the mare forwards, she kicks off her boot and peels off her socks, leaving her feet bare to the warm breeze that gusts through her spread toes as she rotates her ankles and stretches her calves.

The path her parents have taken for the trail rides is the usual one, running up past the cabins, but she's seeking solitude, so she follows another that is rarely used; one that weaves directly through the thick forest behind the house. It's poorly maintained and the going is slow as Sophie leisurely picks her way over fallen logs and bulging tree roots, but Emma doesn't mind. She lets her mind wander to the rays of sunlight fighting through the thick canopy, to the gentle breeze that makes music out of rustling leaves, combining with the steady drumbeat of a woodpecker and the humming drone of mating bullfrogs in a nearby pond.

She wanders aimlessly for some time, not really following an exact path, until eventually she breaks through the trees to an open field. Shifting her seat slightly, she shortens the reins in one hand and wraps the other in Sophie's thick ivory mane, asking the mare to pick up a leisurely canter; letting her legs dangle as she allows her hips and spine to move freely, following the motion of the mare's gently rocking gait.

It's balance and rhythm and freedom, a true sense of being one with the horse, and she urges the mare forward into a headlong gallop, grinning as the wind whips through her hair, and for the moment at least, she forgets all about hating Neal and kissing Killian, forgets about everything but the solid strength of the horse between her legs and the rush of her heart keeping time with the thunder of hoof beats.

On the other side of the clearing she pulls Sophie up, patting her on the shoulder and resuming their leisurely stroll through the woods. The day is hot and bright and sunny again, and she can feel the dampness of sweat already gathering where her skin rests against the mare's back and sides. She doesn't mind though; the smell of it mixes with earth and sun on the summer breeze and she closes her eyes, breathing deep, basking in the tranquillity of the moment.

The next break in the trees gives way to tall grass and a deep-blue fresh water pond. The grass is tall enough to reach her toes, tickling the soles of her feet, and it doesn't take much deliberation to pull the t-shirt over her head, hooking it on the branch of a nearby tree, before urging Sophie forward into the cool waters.

On the way in, Sophie grabs a mouth full of pond grass, not eating it, just carrying it around proudly, and Emma laughs as the mare strikes at the water, splashing playfully. The depth of the water increases gradually and she allows the mare to take her time moving forward. When Sophie finally leaps forward, paddling strongly, Emma grabs hold of her mane and allows herself to be pulled along by the swimming horse.

Even filled with algae and topped with floating lily pads, the pond water is cool and refreshing, and she allows the mare to swim around for several more minutes before guiding her back to solid land. She's definitely going to need another shower at some point to wash the pond scum from her skin and her hair, but right now she revels in it – the childlike glee of being dirty and covered in grime and not having a care in the world.

As Sophie grazes on the long grass, Emma stretches out on her stomach along the mare's wide back, resting her cheek against the thick tangle of mane, bringing her legs up and linking her ankles together over the horse's rump, arms dangling, fingers playing in the tall vegetation. The sun beats strong and hot against the bare skin of her back and she closes her eyes.

"Careful, love, a man might start to think you're avoiding him."

She startles, very nearly falling from her horse.

_How the hell did he find her out here?_

Sitting up, she silently curses the mare (who's still munching obliviously on grass) for not giving her some sort of warning or indication that she was no longer alone.

Killian sits in the saddle atop a paint gelding, watching her cautiously, hesitant, like she's a skittish filly and he's afraid that one wrong word or too sudden a movement is going to spook her and send her running for the hills.

The sad part is; he's probably right.

She's tense; she can feel it in every muscle, the way her shoulders are raised and her lungs tight. Sophie shifts anxiously beneath her, picking up on her unease and she forces herself to breathe slow and deep, willing herself to relax.

Once she does, she realizes that she's sitting here in nothing but a bra and a pair of rather skimpy shorts. Her t-shirt is still hanging from the tree by the trail where Killian waits patiently for her to answer.

She has to give him credit though; he's doing a fairly decent job of keeping his eyes on her face.

"I'm not avoiding you," she says, trying to decide which is a worse fate; remaining in just her bra or actually getting close enough to him to retrieve her shirt from its hook on the tree.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow as if to say '_really?_' and she catches his gaze flicker back down to her breasts for a split second. Then he groans softly and grabs her shirt from the tree, holding it out. "While I'm certainly enjoying the view, perhaps it would be best if you put this back on?"

Nudging her horse forward, she grabs the shirt from his outstretched hand and quickly tugs it on.

Once she's covered, she backs her horse up several steps, putting a bit of distance between them before finally meeting his eye. "How'd you find me?"

"Wasn't too hard," he admits, smiling, "caught you skulking off through the trees behind the house as I was heading back to the barn." He tugs at the collar of his shirt, exposing a glimpse of hair and tanned skin, and she swallows heavily, last night's memory of running her hands over his naked chest still clear in her mind.

_Damn him._

"Figured I'd let you run and get out of your head for a while before seeking you out," he adds, slowly walking his horse forward into the clearing, edging cautiously closer to her.

She wants to say that she wasn't running, that she wasn't avoiding, but that would be a lie, and he's got that damned earnest pout on his lips and somehow she finds herself shrugging and apologizing instead. "Sorry, I just..." she pauses, "I told you, I'm a mess."

That seems to make him smile, and she can't understand for the life of her _why_. And then he's sidling his horse up next to her and reaching for her hand and as soon as he makes contact, she's pulling away as if she's been burned.

He looks hurt, immeasurably so, and she instantly regrets the action.

_God, why is she so bad at this?_

Unclenching her fist, she reaches out to lay her hand over his, squeezing lightly in apology."Killian-" she starts, trying to find the right words, "can we just..." She doesn't want to say '_forget that it ever happened'_, because that's pretty damned unlikely, but she's not ready for whatever this is, not yet. So, sighing, she cringes her way through her next words, because _fuck_, can she get any more clichéd? "Can we just be friends? For now?"

He looks crestfallen, and he tries to hide it behind a smile, but she sees it in his eyes, hears it in his heavy exhale as he nods. "Whatever you wish, Emma." He seems to accept her terms – this stalemate of friendship; not moving forward or back, simply remaining stagnant – still waters, unchanging, and after several moments of tense silence, she nods her head toward the trail. "We should be getting back. There's tack to clean, isn't there?"

Killian nods and they turn silently into the forest.

The ride back is quiet, discomfort and awkward silence clinging to the edges of her periphery, and she can't really help but feel that maybe '_unchanging_' isn't the right word at all, because it seems like somehow they've taken a giant step backwards here.

And she knows that's all on her.

Just before they emerge from the last stretch of forest before the house, he halts his horse and she looks back, waiting for him.

He seems to consider something briefly, then he's squeezing his horse forward again to join her. He watches her closely as they exit the trees, and she must look confused, because he just smiles and says, "I'm a patient man, love. I've got all the time in the world."

The words echo in her ears, stuck on repeat as she retrieves her boots from the yard and they return the horses to their fields, heading back into the barn to mix saddle soap with warm water, buckets and sponges and frothy suds spread over leather, working in relative silence, but still, all she hears is his voice...

_I've got all the time in the world. _

And she's not used to this; patience and unwavering loyalty, someone sticking by her side when she's being terribly indecisive and probably not all that kind, but it's nice, it really is, and just like that the silence isn't so awkward, and she smiles a little, flicking her fingers to spray soapy water at his face.

He looks up from the bridle he's cleaning, feigning appalled, fighting a smile as he grabs the soapy sponge from his bucket and lobs it at her. It flies into her chest with a wet splat, tumbling down to rest at her feet.

Laughing, she flings her own sponge at him, aiming low and smacking him in the gut.

Tilting his head, he raises an eyebrow and grins at her wickedly, but before he can retaliate, she grabs her bucket and splashes its entire contents against his chest.

His wet shirt clings to him like a second skin, and she swallows heavily.

O_h dear lord_.

Dumping water over him was equal parts brilliant and _incredibly stupid_, because now he's standing, soaking wet, his revenge held tightly in his hands as he stalks toward her, predatory grin on his lips.

She holds up her hands in surrender, backing away as he draws closer. "Killian, just wait... I'm -"

She doesn't get to finish her plea for mercy, because her back hits the wall and all she can do is bring her hands up to cover her face as he upends the bucket over her head. She's fairly certain she releases some sort of half shriek, half laugh as the bucket clatters to the ground, and then he's pressed up against her, breathing hard, eyes on her lips. He's dark and dangerous and delicious, and she's sure as hell not laughing anymore.

The cage of his arms on either side of her shoulders, and press of him against her, wet fabric, chest to chest, hip to hip, is intoxicating, even more so than last night, and the urge to give in, to let him kiss her, is overwhelming.

"Killian," she whispers, and she's not sure if it's a plea or a warning, but he takes a small step backwards, distancing their hips, and drops his forehead to her shoulder, breathing out shakily.

She doesn't know when it happened, but her fists, seemingly of their own accord, are clenched in the wet fabric of his t-shirt, and they really don't want to let go. It's a conscious effort to release the material and drop her hands to her sides.

"Apologies, love," he speaks against the damp skin of her collarbone, and she's glad for the wall at her back, because she's fairly certain it's the only thing holding her upright; her knees reduced to wobbly joints.

After a few seconds, he seems to compose himself enough to push back, smiling apologetically, a hint of self-deprecation tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Friends, right?" he asks quietly, holding out his hand.

She just stares at it for far longer than appropriate, unable to decide what to do with the gesture, because suddenly the word '_friends_' tastes bitter and unwanted on her tongue, and eventually he drops his hand, dejection settling into the lines of his brow.

She's so stupid. _So, so stupid. _Because in this moment, friendship is not at all what she wants from him. Part of her wants to say to hell with this line in the sand; she wants to stomp all over it and wipe it from existence, but she's the one who put it there, and for good reason.

And maybe he gets tired of waiting for some sort of response, because he turns away and grabs the bucket, collecting the fallen sponges from the ground, remixing water and soap and returning to his seat by the abandoned tack.

He scrubs forcefully, intent on his task. The lines on his face have yet to soften, and whatever their label, whatever they are, or could be, she can't bear to leave things like this.

Closing her eyes for a second, she pulls at the wet fabric of her t-shirt, letting her head fall back to rest against the wall with a thud as she considers her next words.

"Killian?"

He stills when he hears his name, hunched shoulders visibly tensing, and she thinks for a second that he might ignore her altogether (she wouldn't blame him if he did), but after a second he straightens, hesitantly meeting her eyes, looking hopeful.

"I need to clean up first, but do you think that maybe, in a little while, you could give me a lift into town to pick up the bug?"

It's an olive branch, weak and flimsy, but she offers it anyway.

And he's certainly a far better person that she is, because he takes it graciously, smiling genuinely as he nods. "Of course, love. Meet me back here in an hour or so? I'll have finished up with all this by then."

She nods. "Thank you, Killian," she hesitates briefly before continuing, stumbling over her words, "and uh, thank you for last night," he raises an eyebrow and she flushes a little, rolling her eyes, "not for _that_... for taking care of me, and getting me home, and you know, for punching Neal in the face."

He laughs at that, low and deep, and she feels a little lighter as she returns his smile.

"You're most welcome, love. Now run along and get cleaned up," he insists. "Perhaps while we're in town we can pick up some supper from Granny's? Your parents were kind enough to give us a break today, providing sustenance is surely the least we can do in return."

Nodding, she leaves him seated in the barn, Duke trotting along at her side as she heads back to the house. Before opening the door, she wrings the excess water from her hair, and once she's in the privacy of the mudroom, she tugs off her dripping shorts and t-shirt, balling them up in a plastic grocery bag to deal with later.

She showers quickly and pulls on clean clothes from the dryer (denim shorts and a nicer tank-top this time), folding the rest and throwing a second load in the wash before she heads outside to hang her wet clothes from earlier on the line.

A quick snack in the kitchen while she contacts her parents on the walkie-talkie, letting them know that Killian is driving her into town and that they'll be bringing home dinner, then she's grabbing her purse and heading back over to the barn.

Killian is mixing up grain for the horses when she walks into the feed-room, and they decide to leave the horses out while they head into town; the weather is far too nice to bring them in this early.

She climbs into the jeep where it's parked just outside the open garage, buckling her seatbelt and rolling down the windows while she waits for Killian to run upstairs and change his clothes. He doesn't take long, and soon he's settling into the driver's seat; plaid shorts low on his hips, white t-shirt bright against his tanned skin. His hair is adorably rumpled, like he pulled the shirt over his head in haste and forgot to look in the mirror afterwards, and before she can stop herself, she's reaching out to brush the dark locks from his forehead, thick and soft between her fingers.

He looks at her, inquisitive, a smile tugging at his lips, and it occurs to her that she's _really bad_ at this whole '_just friends'_ deal, because as innocent as the touch was, the feelings stirring in her gut are anything but.

He doesn't say anything though, doesn't make a big deal of it, just reaches for his own seatbelt and turns the key in the ignition, steering the Jeep up the driveway and asking her what she'd fancy picking up for supper.

The drive into town passes quickly as they discuss the merits of burgers versus veal sandwiches, fries versus onion rings, Greek salads versus Caesar salads, and by the time he's pulling the jeep to a stop on the street beside Gus's Auto Repairs, they've sussed out a tentative dinner order.

Hopping out the jeep, she closes the door and sticks her head back through the open window. "I should be out with the bug in a couple minutes. Wait for me here?"

Killian nods in agreement and she shoulders her purse, heading towards the main office of Gus's shop.

The bell above the door rings merrily and Ashley looks up from her seat at the reception desk. "Emma! Here to pick up the bug?"

"I am." Emma nods, smiling. Then, as an afterthought, adds, "When did you start working here? I thought you were happy at Granny's?"

"Oh, I am, I just picked this up on the weekends for the extra cash. Sean has been working himself to the bone over at the cannery and we really want to get enough saved up for a down payment on a house. The apartment just isn't big enough with Alexa up and running around now. Plus with the puppies getting bigger," she shakes her head, "it's a zoo, I tell you!"

"I bet!" Emma says, laughing.

"The little mongrels are adorable, but I'll be glad when they're old enough to go to their new homes," Ashley adds. "Killian still has his sights set on little Avast, right? He hasn't been around to visit yet this week."

Emma nods. "He does, we've just been really swamped at the ranch the last while; summer rush is here in full swing, but I'll make sure he stops by to visit sometime soon."

"You're welcome to come by too, Emma. God knows Alexa would be happy to climb all over you for an afternoon. And I'd be happy to let her – give me a break from playing jungle gym."

"I'll be sure to do that soon," Emma promises, laughing again as she pulls her wallet from her purse. "I should be on my way though, told mom and dad I'd bring home dinner from Granny's. How much do I owe you?"

Ashley shakes her head, holding out Emma's keys. "Not a thing. Your father took care of the bill when he dropped the car off yesterday."

Emma shakes her head, grinning. "That sneaky son of a..."

Nodding in agreement, Ashley hands her the keys. "It's out in the side lot; gate's open so you can drive right out."

"Thanks Ash! I'll give you a call soon and find a time to drop by for a visit."

The bell jingles again on her way out and she makes her way around the side of the building, twirling her keys on her finger as she walks.

She's always liked Ashley, but it's only since her return to town that she's gotten to know her better. Ashley had been a couple years behind her in high school, and had wound up pregnant at seventeen, but things have fallen into place for her and Sean, and for that, Emma is glad.

She finds the bug easily enough amongst the other cars in the small lot (it's bright yellow after all), but what she doesn't expect to find, is Neal, leaning against the driver's side door.

_Fucking seriously?_

There's consolation in the fact that she gets to see the aftermath of last night's punch. His nose is still swollen and misshapen, but has clearly been set and is taped into place. Nasty black and blue bruising encompass most of his left eye and a decent portion of his cheek.

_Note to self: Killian packs one hell of a right hook. _

Laughing silently at the sight of Neal's battered face; she takes a deep breath before stalking up to him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asks with as much disdain and annoyance as she can muster.

Turns out; it's a lot.

Neal makes to speak, but she cuts him off. "Let me clarify: Why are you back in town? And why the fuck are you lurking around by my car?"

In her periphery, Emma can see Killian watching from the jeep. He looks concerned, as if at a moment's notice he's going to rush over here and come to her rescue, but she meets his eyes and shakes her head.

This is something she needs to do by herself.

"Well?" she prompts, hands on her hips.

"Tamara wanted to see where I was from," he finally blurts out, shrugging, and she's a little bit surprised to find that he actually has the decency to look ashamed. He made the trip all the way back to his hometown for his new girlfriend, but it's something he always refused to do for her.

And then he's talking again, "Emma, I wanted to say I'm sorry, to apologize for how things went down. I feel really bad and..."

She cuts him off with a glare and a quiet, but firm, "No."

"You don't get to apologize. You don't get to say you're sorry or beg for forgiveness. I am not going to forgive you. _You fucked up._ You get to live with that. Don't come to me hoping that I'll assuage your guilt and make you feel better, because it's not going to happen."

Pausing, she takes another deep breath, ensuring that her words remain level, still laced with anger, yes, but there's a calmness to it all, a quiet acceptance, and she smiles at him sweetly, falsely. "So show your shiny new girlfriend around, then get the _fuck_ out of my town. You've said it yourself a thousand times; there's nothing here for you."

"Emma..."

"No!" she interrupts, and maybe she shouts a little bit this time, because he seems to shrink in her presence. "Now get out of my way before I re-break your nose."

Neal finally does as told, scurrying off through the gate and down the street, and she breathes a sigh of relief, unlocking the bug and slipping into the seat.

She doesn't have to look to know that Killian is still watching her closely; she can feel his eyes on her, even now, so she starts up the car and pulls out of the lot. He follows several car lengths behind her as she turns down the main street and pulls into an empty spot in front of Granny's.

He parks in the spot behind her, and she meets him as he's stepping out of the jeep. He still looks worried, like he wants to reach out and wrap her in what she knows would be a comforting hug, but he doesn't, just blinks at her slowly and asks, "You all right, love?"

Nodding and saying '_I'm fine_' is her go-to response, automatic and not always truthful, so she takes a second to properly evaluate how she feels.

And she's a little bit surprised to find that she's actually quite okay, better than okay, in fact. She feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders, and sure, she had screamed at Neal that morning almost a month and a half ago, but this was different somehow. This wasn't screaming, and maybe time and distance have altered her perspective, or maybe she's just finally getting over him, because this wasn't the pain and suffering of a freshly broken heart. Not even close. This was strength and resolve and standing up to the asshole that doesn't deserve her forgiveness, so in a way she's thankful that he showed up in town, because she didn't know it, but she needed that resolution, needed to stand up for herself.

So when she links arms with Killian, smiles and says "I'm good."

S_he actually means it. _


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: So this got long... like 10,000+ words long. But I'm sure none of you are complaining, right? ;)

* * *

Monday and Tuesday pass as usual; routine tasks, mucking stalls and feeding horses, trail rides and caring for guests. Things between her and Killian fall back into what, for them at least, constitutes a normal rhythm. He doesn't push, she doesn't run, and the whole '_friendship_' thing seems to be working out quite well.

He joins them for a barbeque dinner on Tuesday night; hamburgers, hot dogs, and the season's first harvest of corn on the cob. They gather around the picnic table, eating and talking well into the evening as they make plans to check out some horses at auction in the morning.

Wednesday morning arrives early and she rises before the sun, meeting her father and Killian in the barn to quickly work through the morning chores. They feed and turn the horses out, and with the three of them mucking stalls, the barn is spotless less than an hour after daybreak.

Her mother wakes and finds them outside as Emma helps her father hitch the horse trailer to the truck. Mary Margaret brings out three large thermoses filled with coffee and a basket full of fresh-baked banana muffins, handing them to Killian before running back into the house and lugging out a cooler filled with juice, water and enough sandwiches and snacks to feed a small army.

Killian places the coffee and muffins in the front seat of the truck and the cooler gets tucked away in the storage area of the large trailer. Emma loads up water buckets, along with her helmet and a tote filled with wraps, pads, and other supplies. Killian tosses a couple bales of hay into the back of the truck and secures them in place with bungee cords and a tarp.

By the time 7:30am rolls around, she's hugging her mother goodbye and piling into the truck, squished between her father and Killian, sipping on coffee as she prepares for the two hour drive south to the nearest auction grounds.

It's unusual for an auction to be held midweek, but there have been so many horses going through the grounds lately, that weekly Saturday's just haven't been able to keep up with the surplus.

They probably won't make it back to the farm until well after dinner, but her mother is taking care of the guests today and Belle has promised to stop by later this afternoon to help with bringing in and feeding the horses.

As her father drives, they snack on muffins and discuss what they're looking for in potential horses. They're planning to retire three horses at the end of the season, so ideally they'll be bringing home three new mounts. Her father would prefer to spend less than five thousand total, and while age doesn't matter a great deal, the horses need to be sound and in good health.

They're looking for a pony; big enough to carry a small adult, but sane enough to be trusted with a child, as well as some sort of heavy-set gelding that would be ideal for larger men. The third is open to negotiation, but her father is considering something faster and high-spirited to replace one of his aging and slightly arthritic lesson horses.

Horse auctions can be hit and miss, but they're hopeful that it won't be a wasted trip.

The highway stretches out before them, long and monotonous, and Emma is glad she's not the one driving. Her father and Killian fall into conversation about fishing or something else she doesn't have a great deal of interest in, and as she pulls her worn copy of _The Goblet of Fire_ from her bag to re-read, she thinks that maybe it would have made more sense for Killian to sit in the middle. It's lacking in leg room though, and being the shortest of the bunch, she gets stuck with it.

She gives up on reading and tucks the book away when the topic of Killian's sister-in-law and nephew arise. She'd almost forgotten they were scheduled to arrive this weekend. Their flight lands at 4pm on Saturday afternoon and Killian is wondering, if it's not too much of an imposition, could she bring in and feed by herself that day so he can pick them up from the airport. If not, he's sure they can take a taxi.

"Don't be silly, of course that's fine," she tells him, elbowing him softly in the side. "Don't make them take a cab. It costs a small fortune and the drivers always get lost."

She knows this from experience after flying home each Christmas. Her father always offered to pick her up, but she was often too stubborn and independent for her own good.

Killian chuckles, thanking her.

"We haven't really discussed it yet," David says, eyes flickering briefly from the road, "but Abigail and Colin are more than welcome to stay in one of the guest cabins. We have an empty one this weekend and I'm sure we could shuffle reservations around to make it available for longer."

"I don't want you to go to any trouble," Killian says, frowning. "I was thinking perhaps they could stay in the apartment for the duration, and if it's all right with you, I'd just crash on your couch? I promise you'll hardly know I'm there."

David nods. "The couch is yours if you want it – it pulls out and is more comfortable than it looks," he tells Killian, and then he bumps his shoulder against Emma's. "There's the two-piece bathroom off the living room, but you'll have to ask Emma if she's willing to share her shower."

Emma barks out a laugh at her father's suggestion, because _oh boy_, if he had any idea about the events of last weekend, he certainly wouldn't be putting the words '_share_' and '_shower_' in the same sentence with her name and Killian's.

Killian blushes, tugging at his ear, and okay, so sue her – he's adorable when he's flustered. Taking pity on him she nods and says, "That's fine," before steering the conversation toward less dangerous waters.

"So how old is Colin now?"

She already knows the answer, but it's a safe question, so she asks it anyway.

Killian gives her a look that tells her he knows this too, and she just smiles, waiting for him to reply.

"He'll be turning three at the end of the month," Killian says, sounding very much like the proud uncle he is, "I'll have to find time this week to pick up a birthday present for him."

"Are zebras still his favourite animal, or has he changed his mind again?" Emma asks, grinning as she plucks another muffin from the basket at her feet.

"I believe warthogs are the pick of the week. Abigail has introduced him to The Lion King and he absolutely adores Pumba."

Both she and David laugh at that. "I imagine you're excited to see them?" David surmises.

Killian nods. "I am. It's been far too long."

The remainder of the drive to the auction grounds is spent discussing Abigail and Colin. David seems to know the vague details of Liam's death, but they're all careful to avoid the name as they speak, and it strikes her that Killian's family is just about as small as her own. She has no remaining grandparents to speak of, her mother was an only child, and her father's twin brother passed back before she was born.

It's never really bothered her though; that she's an only child with a very small family tree. She's known Ruby and Belle for as long as she can remember, and loved them for longer; they're like sisters to her. And her parents have always played an active role in the town community, so in a way, friends and teachers and neighbours have been a sort of extended family.

For her, family has never really been about blood ties.

When they arrive, the auction grounds are already filling up with trucks and trailers, cars parked in makeshift rows on the gravel lot. Her father pulls the truck around, skillfully backing the trailer into a large empty spot between two others.

Killian slides from the truck first, and she follows after him, finally able to stretch her legs. They wait by the truck, flipping through the auction catalogue while David wanders off to register and obtain a bidding card.

Last night after dinner they had folded the corners back on several pages and circled a number of prospects, so today, going in, they already have a pretty good idea of what they want to look at.

She hasn't been to these auction grounds since she was sixteen or seventeen, but she remembers it well; the chaos, people everywhere, rows and rows of temporary stalls and fencing to house horses and cattle, hastily constructed round pens, vendors and booths, all leading up to the main auction ring. Killian, on the other hand, has never been to a livestock auction, and she can't blame him for looking a little bit overwhelmed by it all.

David rejoins them after only a few minutes, and Emma grabs her helmet from the trailer. Her father knows a number of the sellers, acquaintances and the odd childhood friend, and most of them are willing to tack up their horses for short trial rides in the cramped confines of narrow pens.

It's not the ideal way to test out a potential mount, but a few minutes to assess training, temperament, and soundness is better than purchasing a horse sight unseen.

They wander through the rows of pens and stables, checking over horses that look promising. Some they dismiss outright, when temperament, even from a distance, is clearly unsuitable.

Others they speak with owners about, gathering history and whatever information they can. They check the horse's teeth to assess age, and are always on the lookout for injuries and illness. They run their hands down legs and along spines, feeling for heat and sensitivity indicative of potential issues, observing conformation and any abnormalities that could present as problematic later on.

David walks Killian through each step of the process, giving pointers, asking and answering questions.

When they find a horse that looks promising and get the go-ahead from the seller, they tack the horse up, cataloguing reactions. Some horses are downright nasty when the time comes to tighten the girth, and others are head-shy about being bridled. They're issues, but not ones that can't be worked through with a little bit of time and patience.

Once mounted, Emma takes a moment to get a feel for each horse. Some, despite being listed as 'broke to ride' clearly aren't, and when she can feel a horse about to explode beneath her, she quickly dismounts before being dumped in the dirt or thrown into a wall.

Walking and trotting, halting and backing up, she tests out a few horses that are well trained, but she and her father both know that they will likely fetch prices well above their budget. Others are calm, hesitant but willing, and even though they have little in the way of training, it's something they can easily work with. Her father marks down lot numbers and highlights them in the program, taking note of auction times and asking owners about reserve prices to get an idea of how much the horse will go for.

By the time noon rolls around, Emma has been on and off at least ten different horses, and they've looked at nearly triple that. They have a solid eight mounts that that they would be content with bringing home, and out of that, there are four that they're really have their sights set on.

They head back to the trailer to grab a quick lunch before the auction starts, and when they get there, Emma pulls the helmet from her head, wiping the sweat from her brow and rearranging her hair in what she hopes is something less resembling a terrifying case of helmet-head.

David grabs a sandwich and a water bottle and takes his lunch with him into the front seat of the truck, phone held to his ear as he recounts the morning's events to his wife.

Emma finds it adorable, that even after almost thirty years of marriage, her parents still chat like newlyweds.

Grabbing a sandwich for herself and a bottle of lemonade, she tosses them up into the bed of the pickup before putting one foot on the wheel and climbing over the edge. It's not the most elegant place to eat, but it's way too hot to join her father in the front seat of the cab, even with the windows rolled down.

Once she's in the truck, she reaches out her hand to grab Killian's lunch, leaving his hands free to pull himself up.

They settle down with their backs against the tarp covered hay, and she smiles at him as she unwraps her sandwich and takes a bite. The back window of the truck is open, and through it she can hear her father still talking on the phone.

"So what do ya think of all this?" she asks, waving her hand around to indicate the bustle of people and animals surrounding them.

"It's a tad overwhelming," Killian admits. "I certainly wouldn't want to figure it out all on my own the first time. You and your dad seem to have it down to a science though."

She nods. "Just wait until we actually get into the auction ring. Took me a few trips before I could make out a single word the auctioneer was saying. Sounded like some sort of jumbled alien language," she laughs, "still does most of the time. That's why dad does the bidding. I just play crash test dummy beforehand."

After washing down a bite of sandwich with a mouthful of water, Killian asks, "Have you been dumped while trying out the horses here?"

"Just once, when I was twelve – nasty little pony tossed me into a wall. Got this," she points to the small scar beside her left eye, "and a nasty concussion for my trouble."

Killian reaches out, tracing the scar lightly with his thumb, his fingers resting against her hair, and she freezes, holding her breath. After a couple of very long seconds, he drops his hand, smiling apologetically.

Choosing to brush off the touch seems like the best course of action, so she does, shrugging her shoulders and saying, "It's barely noticeable now, but at the time it was pretty messy. Blood everywhere – you know how head wounds are. I thought for sure mom was never going to let me near a horse again, and dad, well, he got quite the talking to."

Killian laughs and her father speaks up, turning his head to address them through the open window. "I thought for sure I was going to be sleeping on the couch for the rest of the year!"

"I take it neither of those things happened?" Killian questions, shaking his head in amusement.

"Nah, I just got a very long lecture about wearing my helmet while riding and dad only got saddled with two nights on the couch."

Emma's about to tell another story about the gelding that stepped on and broke her father's big toe, when the PA system crackles to life and it's announced for all to hear that the first round of horses will be entering the auction ring in twenty minutes.

Finishing up lunch quickly, they pack the cooler away and head toward the ring, wanting to get good seats.

It's a long afternoon, watching horse after horse make their way through the ring. There are young horses and old horses, pregnant mares and sturdy geldings. Some are fancy and obviously well cared for, while others are too skinny, all ribs and hip bones jutting against lackluster coats. Some go to good homes, far too many go to meat buyers. She's always hated it, but it's a sad reality at most auctions and there's very little to be done about it.

Over the course of the next few hours, they buy four horses.

The first is a little paint pony gelding, sturdy, calm, and full of potential. Next is a big boned, dark brown quarter horse gelding, followed by a feisty chestnut mare, who, with some fine-tuning, will make an excellent addition to David's lesson program.

The fourth horse is a bit of an impulse buy, and is not on their list of potentials at all, but when Emma sees the appaloosa enter the ring, she immediately offers to pay her father back, whatever the cost. The mare is raggedy, too thin, full of burs and mats, and there's not an ounce of shine in her coat. She's got a nasty cut running up her shoulder, but despite the unkempt exterior, there's a calm intelligence in her eye, and she appears sound as she's hand-trotted around the ring by a handler.

In the end, the mare goes for just shy of $400, and she hugs her father, thanking him as they gather their buyer contracts and head to the cashier to settle for their purchases. The lines are long and it takes a while, but eventually they're heading back to the stables to meet up with each seller.

One by one David collects the horses, bringing them back to the trailer. Together, she and Killian ensure that each horse has some water to drink and some hay to eat, and for the most part the horses are cooperative as Killian holds them steady so she can wrap their legs for the drive home.

Hay is shoved into hay-nets, and Killian ties them into place in the trailer while she finishes the wraps on the dark brown gelding. He's half asleep, eyes barely open, lower lip drooping in relaxation, and the biggest issue she has is convincing him to shift his weight back onto each hind leg so she can properly wrap them.

Killian leads the paint pony in first, and he steps up the ramp and onto the trailer like an old pro. With the little guy secured, happily munching on hay, she pushes the barrier into place, checking to ensure it clicks, locking tightly. The other gelding loads easily as well, and with the next barrier in place, she steps back down the ramp to collect the chestnut mare.

Loading the feisty redhead is an entirely different story; she skitters sideways, shuffles backwards, and plants her feet, refusing to budge, so Emma focuses on leading the mare around the entire trailer in both directions, allowing her to sniff and explore, adjust and relax.

The next time she comes back to the ramp, she asks the mare to take a step up. When the mare does, she pats her on the neck, feeds her a mint, and allows her to step back down. She repeats the process several more times, allowing the mare to walk up the ramp a bit, and reverse back down it.

It takes a full half hour of patience and gentle reassurance, but eventually the mare follows her willingly onto the trailer. Emma praises her as she clips her into place, and when she moves the barrier into position, the mare is still contentedly eating her hay.

It's not the first difficult horse she's ever had to load, and she learned early on that while anger and frustration and forcing the issue might eventually get the horse on the trailer, in the long run, it's always better to approach the situation with patience and understanding, to build trust and reshape it all as a positive experience.

When she exits the trailer, wipes her hands on her jeans, and says "Ta-da!" Killian is watching her with something akin to awed admiration on his face, and her father is waiting with the last horse, smiling proudly.

She steps down the ramp and approaches the appaloosa mare, stroking her neck soothingly as she inspects the gash on her shoulder. It's deep, but superficial, and looks fairly recent.

She asks Killian to fetch a clean bucket of water and a sponge, and she leaves her father holding the horse while she rummages through the storage compartment for supplies. The mare has no history of a tetanus vaccination in her papers, so she draws up a vaccine in one syringe, and a dose of tetanus antitoxin in another.

The mare doesn't fuss at all when she injects the vaccine and antitoxin into the muscles on either side of her neck, and she hands off the empty syringes to Killian, taking the bucket of water from him. She cleans the wound with water first, then iodine, patting it dry with sterile gauze and smearing antibiotic ointment over it before loosely covering it with a breathable bandage.

The little mare stands perfectly still for the entire process, only occasionally moving her head to nose curiously at Emma as she works.

He father wraps the mare's legs, and when all is said and done, and the mare loads willingly into the trailer, Emma knows it wasn't a mistake to spend the extra money. The little lady needs her hooves trimmed and her teeth checked, a decent groom and an improved diet, but Emma's confident that within a month or two, she'll look like an entirely different horse.

It's well past the dinner hour by the time the horses are all tucked away in the trailer, so they grab more food from the cooler, and pile back into the truck. After finishing her sandwich and eating her way through half a bag of chips with Killian's help, she slumps a little in her seat and stretches her legs out to the right.

Her feet knock against Killian's, but he just smiles at her and doesn't seem to mind, so she smiles back and closes her eyes, contemplating possible names for the new horses.

She must fall asleep, because the next thing she knows, Killian is tucking her hair behind her ear and telling her, "Time to wake up, love."

She nuzzles into his shoulder, grumbling a little bit, because he's warm and he smells good and it's been a really long day. Killian chuckles and she frowns as her pillow shakes against her cheek.

"If you'd prefer, I can carry you into the house and put you to bed again?" he says teasingly and she finally pulls back, cracking open an eye to look at the cheeky grin on his face.

Groaning, she rolls her eyes. _Smug bastard._ "Okay, okay, I'm awake."

Her father is already out of the truck, and she can hear the latches on the trailer being lifted, the ramp being dropped into place. Killian opens the door and slides from the truck first, and when he offers his hand, she takes it, letting him help her down.

She's not sure exactly what time it is, but the yard is bathed in golden light, the sun mere minutes away from dropping below the horizon, so she figures it has to be close to 9pm.

She pulls the little appaloosa from the trailer first, leading her down the ramp and to an empty pen. Killian follows closely behind with the chestnut mare. The horses are new and until they've been checked over by the vet and properly vaccinated, they need to be quarantined – kept separate from all the other horses on the farm.

They unwrap the horse's legs and release the mares into the pen together, keeping watch for a few minutes to make sure they get along without issue. The water trough is already full, so they grab hay from the back of the truck and toss it into the pen for the horses to share.

The geldings follow the same routine and are released into the second pen next to the mares.

When everyone is settled, they gather the leg wraps and toss them into the back of the trailer. David backs it up into its spot beside the garage and detaches the truck. It's dark now, so they'll worry about cleaning it out tomorrow when they have daylight to work with.

Killian heads up to the apartment to shower and change into clean clothes before doing night check for the other horses, and Emma follows her father into the house, dragging her feet up the steps and through the door.

Her mother and Belle are seated on the couch in the living room with a pile of books in-between them, and Emma waves a greeting as she heads to her bathroom for the world's fastest shower.

After her shower (which turns out not to be all that fast), she dresses in pyjama shorts and a loose t-shirt, and finds Belle and her mother in the kitchen, pulling a pie from the oven.

"Looks like you two have had a productive day," Emma says, leaning over the oven to inhale the rich aroma of blueberry pie.

Belle nods. "We planned out reading and activity lists for the next month of summer camp at the library, and I brought the blueberries fresh from town, so we just had to make pie."

Mary Margaret sets the pie up on a cooling rack, and they all take seats at the table.

"You and the boys were certainly busy," her mother states. "We saw you unloading the new horses. Tell me, how did you convince your father to bring home a fourth? I know he didn't want to take on more than three."

Emma grins. "You know how he is; sucker for a lost soul. All I had to do was pout a little bit and offer to pay him back."

Her mother and Belle both laugh at the truth of that statement.

"I know she looks pretty rough right now, and she's not broke to ride, but she's calm and sweet and nothing seems to faze her; once we fatten her up, she'll be a breeze to train," Emma explains.

She tells them all about the other horses as well, and when her father enters the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed in his own pyjamas, they cut into the pie.

Belle takes her piece to go, tucked away in a Tupperware container, and after hugging her friend goodbye, Emma piles two large pieces of pie onto a plate, balancing a couple forks on the side.

"I'm gonna bring a piece out to Killian," she calls as she steps into a pair of flip flops.

"Be quiet when you come back in, we'll probably be sleeping," David answers through a mouthful of pie, "and thank him for all his help today!"

"I will!" she says, adding a goodnight over her shoulder as she steps out onto the porch.

The lights in the barn are already off, and while she was hoping to catch Killian there before he went back up to the apartment, she's not about to turn around and head back into the house with two pieces of pie and little in the way of an explanation.

There's a light on in the apartment, and she can see the bluish flicker of the television reflected on one wall, so she crosses the driveway and heads up the steps, taking a deep breath and balancing the plate carefully in her left hand before knocking with her right.

"It's open!" Killian calls out.

She twists the knob and pushes the door open, remembering the last time she was up here; the first night they met, the rain and the thunder, and her less than graceful, stumbling crash into the wall.

"I come bearing blueberry pie," she says, kicking the door shut softly behind her.

Killian twists from his seat on the couch, turning to look at her over the back of the couch. He seems a little bit surprised by her presence, but he takes it in stride, smiling at her as he stands and takes the plate from her hand. "And it's still warm."

She nods and he sets it down on the coffee table, moving into the small kitchenette, rummaging through the fridge. "Something to drink, love?" he asks. "I'm afraid I've only water, milk, or beer."

She makes a face when he says beer – she's not quite sure that would pair well with blueberry pie. "Uh, milk I guess, thanks."

While Killian pours two large glasses of milk, she takes a moment to look around the small apartment now that it's lit by more than a flickering lantern.

The entire space consists of little more than one large room and a small bathroom on the far side of the bed, and for the most part, it's quite like she remembers it. The layout is the same, but the subtle touches Killian has placed upon it are masculine and earthy. The couch is different, distressed caramel leather, and the bed is made up with plaid sheets and a navy comforter. There's some abstract driftwood art above the bed, and on the wall between the two windows, there's a painting she's never seen before.

She steps closer to get a better look.

A herd of horses, snow white coats transitioning from alabaster to spotted, then painted, like snow upon rocks, changing again, shifting to reveal a flock of birds bursting forth in flight. It's beautiful, and she lowers her gaze to read the words printed below.

"A broken song beneath the snow," Killian beings, speaking the words from across the room, "the echo of a soaring joy, a shape in the mist, a touch in the rain, in wilderness you come again..."

Turning from the painting, she faces him, and he continues, "You tell us what we used to know... you speak for all the free wild things, whose ways were ours, when the wind had wings."

And maybe she's standing there a little bit in awe, her mouth agape; because the fucking perfect bastard (she almost rolls her eyes) just recited some of the most beautiful words she's ever heard, entirely from memory, and he's just smiling at her, holding two large glasses of milk and looking adorably rumpled in threadbare pyjama pants and a midnight blue t-shirt.

"Bev Doolittle, 1994," he says, stepping forward and handing her a glass of milk before ushering her to the couch. "Let's eat that pie before it gets cold."

Killian holds the plate and she settles down next to him on the couch, closer than preferred, but she's the idiot that stuck both pieces of pie on the same plate, so really, she has no one to blame but herself.

The pie is the perfect balance of sweet and tangy, rich and flavourful, and she eats it slowly, savouring each bite. Killian finishes his piece first and when he makes a show of going for her piece, she bats his hand away and pulls the plate into her own lap. "Hey! Hands off, buddy!" she scolds, laughing as he pouts, sets his fork down on the coffee table and grabs his glass of milk.

He downs the entire drink in several large gulps and she starts laughing again when he sets it back down on the coaster. "You've got a little..." she points to his face where there's milk caught in his moustache.

He grins, like he's known it was there all along, his tongue darting out to clean the mess from his upper lip, and she has to look away, because he makes adorably dorky look hot as hell, and it's _so not fair_.

"Better?" he asks.

She glances at him quickly, nods and finishes up the last bite of her pie before discarding the plate on the table and reaching for her own glass of milk.

She's not quite sure how eleven o'clock arrived so quickly, but The Daily Show is starting, and Killian props his feet up on the coffee table, leaning back into the soft cushions as he bumps up the volume so that they can actually make out the words.

He doesn't seem in any great hurry to be rid of her, and oddly enough, she doesn't find herself wanting to leave just yet, so she tucks her feet up underneath her against the cool breeze from the fan in the corner, snuggling into the warmth of the couch.

Killian grabs a blanket from a basket beside the couch, shaking it out and spreading it over her legs. She smiles at him, and maybe she should get up and leave, at the very least she should probably shift into the corner of the couch to put a little distance between them, but somehow, she ends up staying exactly where she is, slouching sideways until her head comes to rest on his shoulder.

His fingers twitch a little bit, his left hand clenching where it rests against his thigh, but he doesn't move to wrap an arm around her, just remains still, focusing too hard on the TV.

She's not sure exactly what it is that makes up her mind; maybe it's his resolve to respect her wishes and not cross the line she's drawn for them, or maybe it's just that she's tired and he's warm and she wants this, but whatever the reason, she finds herself shifting to lift his arm, ducking underneath it before allowing it to settle against her side.

He inhales a sharp breath, and she feels him release it slowly, relaxing as his fingers curl over the curve of her hip. She smiles into the solid warmth of his shoulder, breathing deep as she blinks sleepily, only half watching the laughter playing out on the television before them.

After a while, when she starts to drift off, sleep blurring lines at the edge of consciousness, she thinks that yes, she should definitely get up and leave now.

But she doesn't.

* * *

She wakes to the sound of an unfamiliar alarm clock, confused and disoriented, because there's light coming from the wrong side of a bed that is most definitely not her own.

Sitting upright and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she looks around.

She's in Killian's apartment.

In his bed...

And she's really confused.

"Don't worry, love, I slept on the couch," Killian says, and her eyes snap up to where he stands in the small kitchen, smirking as he pours two cups of coffee.

Her gaze drifts over to the couch where one of the pillows from the bed and a wrinkled blanket rest reassuringly.

"Let me guess; I fell asleep and you carried me over here to your bed?" she asks, frowning, because she has no memory of walking over here and she's almost one hundred percent certain that the answer is yes.

Killian nods. "Aye."

"You should have woken me up and sent me home," she says, grumbling as she flips the covers back and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, standing and trying to locate her flip flops. She _really_ doesn't want to explain to her parents why she didn't return to her own bed last night.

She spies her sandals by the door and moves to grab them, but Killian blocks her path and holds out a cup of coffee. "It's still early, your parents won't be up for at least another hour yet," Killian assures her, pressing the mug into her hands as he points to the clock on the microwave. It reads 5:50am and she breathes a sigh of relief, taking a tentative sip of the steaming coffee.

Killian retreats into the kitchen and points at one of the two bar stools along the tiny island. "Have a seat; the omelette will be ready in a minute."

She makes to protest and Killian must sense it, because he shakes his head and moves around the bar to pull out a chair for her. "Sit, please? Fifteen minutes. I promise your parents won't catch you skulking from my apartment."

"They better not," she warns, still maintaining the pretense of irritated grumbling as she takes a seat and continues sipping at her coffee. It's really good; some sort of hazelnut blend, and she has a hard time fighting the smile that tugs at her lips.

Killian just laughs and returns his attention to the large frying pan on the stove.

It's a little weird, sitting here watching him cook breakfast, after a night of what, really, was a completely innocent series of events.

It's kind of nice though, and the omelette smells amazing, so she allows herself to get caught up in it all for a moment, imagining what it might be like if maybe he had slept in the bed with her, if it all had been far less innocent.

Heat creeps into her cheeks and she chews on her lower lip, admiring the way the thin material of his pyjama pants cling to his ass.

And of course he chooses that moment to turn and look at her with a knowing smirk and a raised eyebrow. "Toast with your omelette?" he asks, and she can hear the lilting laughter in his voice.

_Damn him. _

"Two slices please. I'm planning to work up quite the appetite today," she says looking him in the eye, grinning right back at him.

Fuck if she's going to let him have all the fun here.

His eyes flicker down to her chest, then back up to her face – retaliation she expects, for staring at his ass.

He puts four slices of bread in the toaster, pressing the levers down quickly before removing the frying pan from the heat and turning back to her. "That so, love?"

She nods, and decides to take a page from Ruby's book of ridiculous horse innuendos. It's common knowledge in the horse world that a '_hand_' (four inches) is a unit of measurement for discussing a horse's height. "It's hard work having 16 hands between your legs for hours on end," she tells him, biting back a laugh as she tries to keep a straight face.

She fails miserably.

The look on his face is a mixture of amusement and shock, and by the time she stops laughing, he's setting the loaded plates on the bar with a bottle of ketchup, and then pulling peanut butter and honey from the cupboard next to the sink.

The laughter lightens the mood, and as they eat, they discuss the new horses. The vet is scheduled to come out this afternoon, but her father will be taking care of that while they manage the trail rides.

They end up talking about Avast as she finishes her last bite of toast, and that reminds her that Ashley had called Tuesday night, inviting her and Killian to come out Friday evening for dinner and a visit.

"Oh, I totally forgot with all the chaos yesterday, but Ash called the other night and was wondering if we'd like to come out for dinner on Friday. Honestly I think she just wants to pawn Alexa off on me for a few hours, but I know you haven't had much time to go see Avast lately, so I was thinking it might be fun."

Killian nods, gathering up the dishes and depositing them in the sink. "Sounds good to me, love," he says as he runs hot water, filling up the sink. "You'll let her know I'd be happy to attend?"

She looks at the clock (it's almost quarter to seven – she's stayed far longer than she meant to) and slides down from the chair, heading toward the door. "I will," she tells him.

"And Killian?"

He turns to look at her.

"Thanks for breakfast."

"You're most welcome, love. I'll see you out in the barn shortly," he calls as she heads to the stairs.

She makes it into the house and changes quickly, grabs another cup of coffee and is on her way out the door just as her parents wake and wander into the kitchen.

The rest of the day is spent as usual; they feed, turn out and muck the stalls, throw hay to the new horses and break for lunch before taking guests out on the trails in the afternoon. The vet drops by just before supper, and after they eat, she and Killian spend the rest of the evening together, grooming the new horses.

Friday arrives, humid, sunny, and even hotter than the day before, and with the afternoon's work completed, she heads into the house for a lukewarm shower to wash the sweat and the dirt and the sunscreen from her skin.

She allows her hair to air-dry in a tangle of wild waves, because with the humid weather, attempting to tame it would be the definition of futility. She tugs on a pair of white shorts and a pale green sleeveless blouse, pulling a pair of flat, strappy sandals from her closet before gathering her purse and heading outside to meet Killian.

He'd offered to drive earlier and when she crosses the driveway, he's already waiting by the jeep, dressed in a pair of grey linen pants and that thin white t-shirt she loves on him far too much. He's all tanned skin and dark hair, holding a bagged bottle of wine, and she finds herself wondering yet again, just why exactly she thought remaining '_friends_' would be good idea.

"Ready to head out?" he asks, and her heart beats a little faster when he grins broadly, dropping his sunglasses into place over his eyes.

The drive into town doesn't take long, and Killian parks the jeep in the lot at the side of the small apartment building. She calls up and Ashley buzzes them in. The building is only three stories and Ashley and Sean live on the second floor, so they take the stairs instead of the elevator, knocking twice before they're finally heard over the commotion within.

Ashley opens the door with a puppy in one arm, waving them in, and Alexa comes barrelling forward, blonde curls bouncing, dragging a giant stuffed horse behind her.

"Lex, you remember Emma and Killian, right?" Ashley asks her daughter.

Alexa nods excitedly, abandoning the stuffed animal in the doorway to grab Emma's hand and pull her into the room. "We go see puppies, come!"

"Don't worry about your shoes," Ashley tells them, and Emma discards her purse on the coffee table as she walks past it, allowing the excitable three and a half year old to pull her over to the barricaded area of the living room where the puppies are housed.

Killian follows them through the room, returning the stuffed horse to a basket of toys, and when Ashley places the squirming puppy back in the pen with the others, he hands her the bottle of wine.

Emma had taken a peek at the label in the car; it's a full-bodied Italian red, more expensive than she usually bothers with, but her parents have served it on occasion and it's one of her absolute favourites. Somehow she gets the feeling Killian knows this.

Sean's out on the balcony barbequing dinner and Mia (mama husky) is relaxing in the sun by his feet. They call their greetings through the screen door, laughing over the chaos as the puppies yap loudly and Alexa breaks into a song that contains each of their names.

"Little brats are five weeks old now," Ashley tells them, shaking her head. "I just keep telling myself three more weeks, three more week and they can start going to their new homes. Even poor Mia is fed up with them – jumps out of the pen for some alone time more and more each day."

"You should make Archie puppy-sit; letting Pongo off his leash is what started all of this in the first place," Emma jokes, grabbing Alexa under the armpits and lifting her into the pen before stepping over the barrier to join her.

"He helped me find homes for most of them and pays for the extra dog food, so he's off the hook," Ashley says. "Keep an eye on her for a few minutes, will ya? I should get the table set."

"We will," Killian promises, stepping into the pen behind her.

The puppies have grown significantly since she last saw them, but they're still unbearably cute, chubby balls of fluff and she can't wait to get her hands on them.

Alexa drags them down to sit on the floor and Emma's knee bumps against Killian's as they all sit cross legged in a small circle. The puppies climb all over them, clamouring for attention, and the next ten minutes are spent asking Alexa questions about the dogs and smiling so hard her face hurts.

Avast has outgrown her title as runt of the litter, and is now the second largest of the group. The puppy's big paws press into Killian's chest as she licks at his face, squirming excitedly in his grasp, tail wagging wildly.

"Lex, come wash your hands," Ashley calls from the kitchen.

"Why?" Alexa replies, looking up from where she sits on the floor with a puppy in her lap.

"Because it's almost time to eat," Ashley explains patiently.

"No! Don't wanna," Alexa states firmly, pouting.

Ashley sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Lex..."

But clearly the little girl isn't just playing stubborn.

Killian deposits Avast gently back on the floor and stands, offering his hand to Emma. "What do you say, love? Think we should go wash our hands? Perhaps make some bubbles?"

He winks at her, grinning, and she takes his hand, allowing him to pull her up. "You know what? That sounds like a lot of fun!" she exclaims dramatically. "Maybe we should ask Lex if she wants to join us, huh?"

Killian nods and offers his other hand to Alexa, who looks markedly more interested now. "How's that sound, lass? Want to help Emma and I make bubbles in the sink?"

Alexa pushes the puppy from her lap and stands, nodding enthusiastically. "Uh huh!"

Killian lifts Alexa over the barrier this time, and as they follow the little girl down the hall toward the bathroom, Ashley mouths a 'thank you', looking relieved.

In the bathroom Killian rubs a thin mixture of soap and water between his palms, blowing air through the film to create bubbles that float over the counter and pop against the mirror. Alexa giggles wildly as Killian shows her how to do it with her own hands, and Emma watches from the doorway, a soft smile curving at her lips, because once again, she's blown away by how good he is with kids.

Emma takes her turn blowing bubbles and washing her hands, and a few minutes later, they're all heading back to the table.

"Dada! We made bubbles!" Alexa shouts, barrelling into Sean's legs just seconds after he sets the tray of food on the counter.

"You did?" Sean asks, reaching out to shake Killian's hand over his daughter's head.

Alexa nods, jumping into the story, and Emma joins Ashley at the kitchen counter. "You're probably going to want to wipe down your mirror later," Emma tells her, "there are bubble prints all over it now."

Ashley just laughs and hands Emma the salad. "Totally worth it! You two got her to wash her hands without a fight; that's been a challenge lately."

Sean helps Alexa up into her booster seat, and Killian opens the bottle of Ripasso as Emma helps Ashley carry the food to the table. There's steak, a Caesar salad, and a medley of colourful roasted baby potatoes.

Emma takes a seat next to Killian at the circular table, and Ashley and Sean sit on either side of Alexa. Killian compliments them on what promises to be a delightful meal, and after the plates are loaded, Emma fills Killian's wine glass and her own before handing the bottle off to Sean.

Everyone digs in, and she swirls the dark ruby red liquid in her glass, testing the aroma before taking a sip; earthy and dry, ripe cherry and oak spice, unite on her tongue.

They chat throughout dinner, discussing work at the ranch and the new horses before moving on to the topic of Ashley and Sean's hunt for a reasonably priced house. Alexa regales them with tales of unlikely friendships between her stuffed horse and stuffed lion, and when she gets impatient listening to the adults speak, Sean lifts her down and sends her off to play in front of the TV.

When the bottle of wine is empty and the food is devoured, Ashley rises to put Alexa to bed. The little girl hugs them both goodnight, pressing sloppy kisses to their cheeks before following her mom down the hall to her bedroom.

Emma helps Killian clear the table, and Sean loads up the dishwasher, insisting that the large trays and delicate wine glasses can wait until later.

"You guys up for coffee?" Sean asks, pulling mugs from the cupboard and starting a pot of coffee when they both nod.

"If you don't mind, the pups are due for a feeding. Food's in the cabinet at the end and they're each getting half a cup – mix it with warm water and wait 'til it's good and soggy. For Mia, you can just fill the big bowl; she'll eat what she wants out of it."

"Not a problem," Emma says, reaching down into the bag to divvy up the food into the small rubber-bottom bowls.

Sean disappears down the hall, probably to say a proper goodnight to his daughter, and Killian takes each bowl from her, adding water and stirring the contents with a spoon.

Mia perks up when she hears the rattle of food in her bowl and hops over the gate, abandoning the puppies. With Mia happily munching away, she and Killian take the smaller bowls and set them on the floor in the pen, shuffling puppies until each one finally stays put at their own dish.

Killian stands next to her and they watch the puppies eat. It's messy and the pups stick their feet in the dishes as much as their faces, but they're really freaking cute and she leans against Killian's side, laughing.

"You ready to deal with that little monster in another month?" she asks, pointing at Avast, whose entire face and most of one ear are now covered in food."

He chuckles, nudging her lightly. "I'm certain she'll be a bit more refined by then."

The coffee maker beeps just Ashley and Sean rejoin them, and after filling their mugs, they retire to the living room.

There's not much furniture in the small space, and Ashley and Sean take up most of the couch, so Killian tells her to sit in the armchair, content to settle down on the floor in front of her.

They chat quietly, careful not to wake Alexa, and when she finishes her coffee, Killian takes the empty mug from her hands sets it on the table.

Sean has dimmed the lights and the tv plays on low volume in the background, a wildlife special of some sort flickering across the screen. The door to the balcony is still open, and a warm, sticky breeze filters in, ruffling her hair every once in a while. It's peaceful, relaxing, and when Killian gets up to fetch a sleepy Avast from the pen, returning to the floor with the pup on his lap and his head resting against her tucked up knees, she thinks that she could certainly get used to this.

And somehow that doesn't scare her quite as much as it used to.

It's after ten o'clock when they finally say goodnight to Ashley and Sean and head back to the jeep.

A thunderstorm blows in on the way home and really, she's not that surprised. With the heat that's been building the last couple of weeks, it was bound to happen sooner or later, and they could certainly use the rain and subsequent cool-off.

They're laughing over Alexa's antics, the wipers beating furiously against the deluge, when there's a loud bang and the jeep wobbles, skidding precariously for a second before Killian gets it under control and slowly steers it over to the shoulder beneath a dim streetlight.

Of course they'd wind up with a flat tire in this weather. Of course.

Killian groans and looks out through the windshield, frowning. "Bloody hell," he mutters, clearly unimpressed. "Wait here, love, I'll change the tire and we'll be on our way again soon."

He's out of the jeep before she can get a word in otherwise, and over the near deafening roar of relentless rain, she can hear him fumbling around in the trunk.

She considers doing as told and waiting in the car, but with the engine off and no circulating air, the atmosphere in the jeep quickly grows thick and suffocating. Plus it's dark out, and the streetlight certainly isn't bright enough to work by, and how the hell is he going to hold a flashlight and change a tire at the same time, so she makes the decision to get out and help him.

He curses as the flashlight falls to the ground, for what, she suspects, is probably not the first time, and she picks it up, wiping the wet hair from her face as she points it toward the tire for him.

Killian gives her a funny look and she just shrugs. "It's only water."

He's already got the jack in place, the lug nuts loosened, and the car lifted, so she holds out her empty hand to catch the nuts as he removes them. He pulls off the old tire and lifts the spare onto the hub. She hands him back the nuts, and he quickly twists them into place.

Finally he lowers the car and she gives him back the flashlight, returning the jack and the ruined tire to the trunk while he finishes tightening the nuts.

When it's all said and done, they're both soaked to the bone, hair plastered to their heads, and the rain hasn't let up one bit.

Her blouse is drenched, clinging to her breasts and her stomach, and she can see the darkness of Killian's chest hair through the nearly transparent fabric of his white t-shirt.

Water beads in his scruff, dripping from ridiculously long eyelashes, and she's sure water droplets pelt against her face when he shakes his head and laughs at the ridiculousness of the situation, but she can't make them out past the torrent of rain still falling from the heavens, and she doesn't really care to.

And now would be the time to retreat to the shelter of the jeep, but she hasn't had a good run around in the rain in far too long, so she grabs Killian's hand, pulling him toward a puddle just up the shoulder, stomping her way through it with a splash.

He looks at her like she's gone mad and she just laughs, kicking water at him. "What? It's not like we can possibly get wetter."

Dropping his hand, she skips away through the puddle, running back toward him and jumping to make a big splash next to him.

Then suddenly she's in his arms, the wet heat of him pressed against her, a stark contrast to the refreshing chill of the late night downpour.

Her chest is heaving from her run through the puddle and adrenaline thrums in her veins as she looks up at him.

"Hi," she breathes out, hooking her fingers through the belt loops at his hips.

"Emma," he whispers, and it's as much a question as it is a plea, so she untangles one of her hands from its hold on the belt loop, bringing it up to brush her fingers along the wet scruff at his jaw, gliding sideways until her fingers curl in the wet hair at the nape of his neck, thumbing the soft skin behind his ear.

And still he waits, standing motionless, watching her closely, and it occurs to her that she's actually going to have to tell him what she wants.

But first, she drops her chin to his chest, nuzzling up under his jaw with her nose and parting her lips to lick the rainwater from his neck, the hammer of his pulse fluttering against her tongue.

She takes a second to delight in the groan he releases into her hair and the clench of his fists in the sodden material at her waist before pulling back and grinning up at him.

"Killian?"

"Aye?"

"I think now would be a really good time for you to kiss me."

And he does. Oh boy, does he ever.

She's glad that she's still clinging to his belt and his hair, that his arms are wrapped around her waist, because otherwise, she's fairly certain she'd be crumpling to the ground and merging with the rainwater at their feet.

He kisses her slow and deep, hand tangling in her hair as she groans against his lips, tasting coffee on his tongue. And it's different than the drunken kiss they shared just shy of a week ago in Ruby's bedroom. Misplaced anger and anxiety have no place here.

She's present, here and now, swept up in the solid strength of him, the burning heat and the gentle force of his lips, the pounding rain and the rumbling thunder, reverberating, rolling through him and into her as she fights her way past the cling of fabric to stroke her fingers over the hot skin of his lower back.

And it's not until her ass is pressed up against the hood of the jeep, that she realizes he's been steadily backing her up this entire time. And then he's abandoning her lips and trailing kisses along her jaw, pausing to bite at her earlobe before sweeping the wet tangle of her hair to the side and brushing open mouthed kisses down her neck, over her shoulder, and back across her collarbone.

Tugging at his hair she pulls their lips back together, desire burning low in her belly as she yanks his hips into hers, kissing him until the world threatens to drop out from underneath her and she's forced to draw back, breathing hard to catch her breath.

Killian presses his forehead against hers, and for several long seconds, they breathe the same air, thick with want and foggy mist, the storm dissipating as the rain slows to a gentle patter upon the asphalt.

A cool breeze blows in, making her shiver, and Killian presses one last kiss to her lips before stepping back, taking her hand, and guiding her around to the side of the jeep.

"I think I've got a blanket or two in here somewhere," he tells her, opening the door and releasing her hand to rummage through a box in the back seat.

She wrings the water from her hair as best she can, and when she's done, he wraps her in a thick wool blanket, helping her into her seat before running back around to the driver's side. He places the other blanket over his seat and climbs into the jeep, starting it up and cranking the heat.

Killian signals and pulls back out onto the road, shifting the vehicle up to speed before glancing over at her.

"I suppose this blows our entire '_just friends' _deal out of the water, does it not?" he asks hesitantly, as if he's a little bit afraid to hear her answer, afraid that she'll recant the entire exchange and insist on returning to the status quo.

She's not entirely sure where this thing between them is headed, and she'd be lying if she said she was no longer terrified, but there's something here, something between them that she just can't sweep back under the rug.

Not now.

So she thinks that maybe she should run with it, give them a chance and see what happens.

"I guess it does," she agrees, reaching out to twine her fingers with his over the gearshift. "But I think I'm okay with that – if you are?"

The smile he gives her is blinding. "Aye, love, I am quite all right with that."

She holds his hand the rest of the way home, simply because she can, and also, because really, there's not one good reason she can think of to let go.

He's still grinning when he pulls the jeep into the garage and kills the engine, shifting in his seat to face her, turning his hand so that their fingers interlace palm to palm.

"I'd offer to walk you to your door and kiss you goodnight, but I figure you're not likely to allow that." He's still smiling when he says it, though not as wide, and there's no malice in the words, just simple acceptance.

"You figure right," she admits, brushing her thumb over the veins at his wrist, considering her words. "I want to give this a shot – give us a shot, but for now, for a while at least, can we just not tell anyone?"

Killian nods, lifting their joined hands to press a kiss to her knuckles. "That's perfectly all right, love, just..." he pauses, and when he speaks again, she can hear the vulnerability in his voice, clinging to the edges of each word, "please, Emma, if you're scared or overwhelmed or having second thoughts, before you panic and shut me out or run away, just talk to me? Okay?"

She's not sure she wants to be having this conversation right now, because this is pretty serious stuff, and serious stuff scares her, but he seems to understand that because he looks a little bit spooked too, and then it hits her – that she's not the only one taking a chance here, so she squeezes his hand and tries to smile at him.

"I don't like making promises I can't keep," she sighs, "but I'll try."

He smiles back, a sort of pained half smile, like he wants to believe her but isn't sure if he should, and suddenly she's got a pretty good idea what it's like to the on the receiving end of all her indecision and uncertainty.

So she unbuckles her seatbelt and leans over the console, stroking her thumb across his cheek before pulling him close and kissing him softly.

And it's little more than a brush of lips against lips, sweet and slow, but when she pulls back, his smile is a little brighter, a little truer.

Pressing one last lingering kiss to his lips, she forces herself to open the door and get out of the car.

"I'll see you in the morning, Killian."

Then she grabs her purse and leaves him seated in the jeep before she can do something really stupid like convince him to take her upstairs to bed.

Her parents are still up, watching something on TV in the living room when she enters the house. Her mother reaches for the remote, pauses the movie, looking concerned, and her father just raises his eyebrows and starts laughing.

"Flat tire," she says by way of explanation. "I'm finding some dry clothes and going to bed. Keep it down, would ya?"

Her parent's laughter follows her down the hall to her room where she takes off her damp clothes and towel dries her hair. She tugs on a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a t-shirt, and heads into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Before climbing into bed, she grabs Killian's sweater from where it's been hanging on her bedpost for the last week, pulling it on and zipping it up. It's faint, but it still smells like him, and she smiles as she switches off the lamp and burrows down into the warmth of her blankets.

When she sleeps, her dreams are filled with kisses in the rain and the potential of tomorrow.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry for the terribly long wait my loves! Between the season finale and being sick, I've been super distracted. It's a crazy long chapter though, so I hope that'll make up for the wait! :)

* * *

Wrapped in the warmth of blankets and Killian's sweater, Emma sleeps through her alarm; not by much, but it's enough that when she does finally manage to drag her ass out of bed, she's rushing as she pulls on jeans, stubbing her toe and cursing as she limps down the hall to the kitchen. Her socks definitely don't match and her shirt winds up inside out on the first attempt.

The smoke detector goes off, screeching loudly when the toaster chars her bagel, and she scalds her tongue on too hot coffee.

Hell of a way to start the day.

When she eventually makes it into the barn, wondering what else can possibly go wrong, Killian already has the horses fed and is perched casually on the wooden storage bench, waiting for them to finish eating their grain.

"Rough morning, love?" he asks, grinning at her, eyes sparkling mischievously.

She plunks down next to him and groans. "How could you tell?"

"You're late, and that rarely happens, plus you've got cream cheese here," he points at the front of her shirt, "and here," then swipes his thumb over her chin, showing her the smudge of strawberry flavoured spread before wiping his thumb on his pants.

Huffing, she wipes at the stain on her shirt but only succeeds in smearing it further. "Day hasn't been off to a great start."

"Surely we can turn that around. Might I be of assistance?" he asks, grinning suggestively at her. She has a pretty good idea what he's hinting at, and while a kiss would likely improve the day, she knows her father wasn't far behind her when she left the house. He's taking a couple lesson students to a show today and will be out in the barn to prep in no time.

Leaning into Killian a little bit, she softly elbows him in the ribs and says, "Just don't leave any pitchforks lying around, with my luck today I'd step on the prongs and wind up being smacked in the face by the handle."

Killian laughs at that. "Duly noted."

He looks like he's about to say something else, but he's interrupted when his cell phone rings. Unclipping it from his belt, he smiles apologetically at her before swiping upwards to take the call. "Morning Gus," he says in greeting.

She can't really make out the words on the other end, and she's never been one to eavesdrop, so she stands and wanders down the barn isle, patting the horses that have already finished eating.

Grabbing a bottle of sunscreen from a nearby shelf, she slips into several stalls, applying the creamy liquid to the noses of horses with fair skin. Most are accepting of the task, but there are a couple that absolutely hate it, that will back up as soon as they catch sight of the bottle, so she has to discretely approach them with the sunscreen already squirted into the palm of her hand, coaxing them with gentle words, telling them that sunburns and cracked skin are much worse than a little bit of funny smelling lotion.

Killian is just finishing up on the phone when she closes the last stall door and returns the sunscreen to the shelf.

"That was Gus," he tells her. "I left a message for him last night about requiring a replacement tire; the flat is too damaged for a simple patch job, but he doesn't have anything compatible in stock and it could be a few days before the new one arrives."

He's quiet for a second, contemplating, before he speaks again. "I'd ask to borrow your father's truck, but he's taking Kate and Laura to that show today, so..."

"You're wondering if you can borrow the bug?" Emma says, finishing his hesitant question.

He nods. "If you don't mind, love, it would be greatly appreciated."

"How about I do you one better and offer to drive you? Dad should be back from the show with the girls by 4 or 5 and I'm sure they won't mind helping him bring in and feed."

It would probably be a hell of a lot simpler for him to just borrow her car, but with his family coming to visit and her parents always around, she's not too sure when she'll manage some alone time with him, and while she still has no clue what to label this tentative relationship between them, she certainly wouldn't mind kissing him again. Offering to drive him to the airport seems like the perfect way to have him to herself for a couple hours.

A slow smile spreads across Killian's face and he reaches out to twist a lock of her hair around his finger. "Hoping to spend some alone time with me, are you, love?" he teases, tugging gently on the curl before releasing it.

Shaking her head, she grins up at him. "Maybe... Is that such a bad thing?"

"Not in the slightest. I'll gladly accept on the condition that you allow me to pay for gas."

Holding out her hand, she says, "Buy us all some ice cream on the way back and you've got yourself a deal."

He takes her hand, not really shaking it, more just holding it, his fingers curling around her own, thumb ghosting over her knuckles.

She likes this; the playful banter, the teasing back and forth.

"What's this about a deal?" her father asks, striding in to the barn.

And she drops his hand (maybe a little too quickly), taking a step back, because when exactly did she end up standing _that_ close to him?

"I'm unable to obtain a replacement tire for the jeep just yet," Killian begins, saving her the trouble of stumbling over her words while she tries and fails to play it cool, "so Emma has kindly offered to drive me out to the airport to pick up Abigail and Colin, provided that I pay for gas and take everyone out for ice cream on the way back."

Emma nods along in agreement. "Maybe Kate and Laura can help you bring the horses in when you guys get back from the show?" she asks.

David nods. "That's not a problem, but what about the afternoon trail rides?"

"The early ones won't be an issue; we can do those before we leave, but the later one..." Killian says, frowning slightly.

Emma jumps in to make a suggestion, "There's only one scheduled for the late afternoon, and the Robinson's are flexible, so I was thinking we reschedule it as a sunset ride instead?"

Killian nods. "I'm sure they'd be all right with that."

"I'll head over to the cabins after we turn out to confirm it with them," she offers.

Sometimes it still surprises her just how in sync she and Killian are; they really do make quite the team.

Her father just shakes his head in amusement. "Seems you two have got it all figured out," he praises, giving them what could be construed as an odd look, but if he suspects anything, or thinks it strange that Emma is driving instead of simply just lending her car, he doesn't say anything, just readjusts his baseball cap and heads into the tack room to pull out wraps for the two mares being shown today.

Kate and Laura arrive (with their mothers in tow) as Emma and Killian are turning out the horses. The teenage girls work with David in the isle to wrap legs and straighten braids, giggling quietly from behind the horses every time Killian passes by with another horse.

As she and Killian lead the last two geldings out to the field, she elbows him in the side, drawing his attention to the giggling teens who are trying their best (and doing a terrible job) at not being obvious about their attraction.

"I think you've got a couple secret admirers over there," she says, laughing as they release the horses into the field. He latches the gate behind them.

She leans back against the fence and Killian just shrugs, turns stand next to her, and bumps their arms together. "There's only one secret admirer I'm concerned with and she just so happens to be standing right next to me."

She snorts. "You think I secretly admire you, huh?" she asks playfully as she looks back toward the barn where Duke is soaking up attention from the girl's mothers. "What gave you that idea?"

"Oh, I don't know, perhaps it has something to do with the fact that you're always sneaking glances at me when you think I'm not looking."

She makes a show of protesting, dramatically huffing as she rolls her eyes and says, "I do not."

"But if I'm wrong about that, there's more than adequate proof in the way that you kissed me last night. Add to that the fact that you've yet to return the sweater I lent you last weekend, and I'd say the evidence speaks for itself."

"You want that back?" she asks. "I'll go grab it for you, right now."

She pretends to head off in the direction of the house and he grabs her arm, halting her.

"You're more than welcome to keep it, Emma, you know that," he tells her, and it sounds like he's talking about an awful lot more than a simple item of clothing.

Grinning, she pushes off from the fence and turns to face him. "See? Now I'm starting to think that maybe I'm the one with the secret admirer."

"I certainly don't think it's a secret that I admire you, love, and if it is, I shall endeavour to rectify that posthaste."

"There you go using fancy words again." Shaking her head, she laughs, wanting to kiss the stupid smirk right off his face. She settles for grabbing his hand and squeezing it after a quick look toward the barn confirms everyone is distracted. "You sure you were born in the 1980's? 'Cause some days it sounds an awful lot like you're about a century behind the times."

"Positive, darling. Now as much as I'd greatly prefer to lollygag out here with you all day, we've work to do," he says, tugging her toward the barn.

She allows herself to be dragged along, enjoying the rough heat of his hand in hers for a moment before reluctantly dropping it as they draw closer to the stables.

Getting started on the stalls, she mucks quietly, listening to Kate and Laura babble on as they gather saddles and other supplies, loading them up in the trailer. David chats with the mother's, explaining what divisions the girls will be showing in today, and Killian keeps sneaking playful glances at her through the stall doors.

Mary Margaret wanders into the barn not long after that, a small cooler packed for David, taking a moment to talk with the mothers before retreating into the office to check the answering machine. Emma wishes the girls good luck when they pile into the truck with David and waves farewell to the mother's as they climb into a minivan and follow the trailer up the driveway.

She does a few more stalls before taking a peek at the clock and deciding it's now an acceptable time to go see if the Robinson's are okay with rescheduling their trail ride.

Before leaving she tucks her pitchfork and wheelbarrow out of the way, leaning into the stall where Killian works. "I'm gonna head over to the cabins to check in with the Robinson's," she tells him. "I'll be back soon."

"Check the firewood supply while you're over there, would you, love? Let me know if it's getting low," he requests, leaning on the pitchfork.

"Eager to play lumberjack again?" she teases, grinning.

"Eager to watch me?" he retorts, raising that damned eyebrow.

She rolls her eyes. "You wish."

"Aye," he nods. "Now go on, day's a wasting."

Unable to keep the smile off her face, she sticks her head into the office, waving at her mother who is chatting away on the telephone, before grabbing a pair of clip-on reins from the wall in the tack room. She could walk over to the cabins on foot, but it's a bit of a hike, so she grabs the first horse that approaches her in the field and after attaching the reins to his halter and leading him through the gate, she climbs up onto his back.

The big roan gelding ambles along slowly, and she has to give him a couple good kicks to convince him to finally move forward into a steady jog up the driveway.

It's a bit cooler out today and a light breeze plays through the trees, twisting in her hair as she rides along on the sturdy gelding. It's still warm out, but the oppressive heat and humidity have dissipated somewhat after last lights thunderstorm and she no longer feels like dunking her head in a water trough just to cool off.

She hurries her mount along, as if completing this task and returning to the barn to finish mucking will somehow make the hours slip by faster.

It's a little bit ridiculous, this giddy feeling in her gut at the prospect of spending a couple hours alone in the car with Killian. She'll be driving, so it's not as if there will be much in the way of kissing, but that fact does little to diminish the longing that presses at her breast, sparks prickling at her finger tips.

Now that she's made the decision to move forward with this, with whatever they are, she craves him even more. It's like an itch in her bones, a fire beneath her skin, and all she wants to do is steal him away and wrap herself up in his arms, kiss him senseless for a while and lose herself in the warmth of his smile.

She certainly wouldn't mind tearing off his clothes and exploring every inch of what lies beneath, but she has a feeling he's going to stubbornly insist that they take things slow, and really, as much as that frustrates her, it's probably for the best.

But still, there's got to be a way to get him shirtless... Maybe she'll insist that they finally head out to the swimming pond for a dip; if she can steal him away from his family for that long. It's a selfish thought and she pushes it down as soon as it arises. Abigail and Colin will only be around for a week and he should be spending every moment of his free time with them, not her.

They have an overnight trip to the tepees scheduled for Tuesday though, so she contents herself with the fact that she'll have him to herself for a while once the guests retire to their shelters for the night. They'll be sharing the tepee as always, but apart from that, she hasn't really thought the sleeping arrangements through; does she want to curl up next to him, sleep tucked in the warmth of his arms? Will he allow it?

She imagines waking to the feel of him pressed against her back, shifting her ass back into his hips, the drape of his arm, lazy over her stomach, lips hot against the skin behind her ear.

_God. _

She groans, shaking her head when she realizes she's been standing, lost in thought at the fork in the road leading up to the cabins for more than a couple minutes.

Seems that maybe Ruby was right; she _really does_ have it bad.

Pressing forward, she makes her way up to the cabins where most of the guests are already awake and outside, enjoying the fresh morning air. She waves to an older couple seated on the porch of the smallest cabin, eating breakfast, and grins when the Robinson's youngest son, Nathan, a boy of about ten, comes running up to greet her, stopping a few feet away with a too large baseball glove in one hand and a ball in the other.

"Emma!" he calls. "Can I pet your horse?"

"You sure can," she tells him, sliding from the horse to land softly on the ground. "Remember to approach him from the side; he can see you better over there."

The boy drops the ball and glove on the ground and slowly approaches the horse, stroking the large gelding's neck. "What's his name?" Nathan asks.

"This is Tank," she tells him, pulling the reins over the horses head.

Nathan plucks a handful of grass from the ground and feeds it to the appreciative gelding. "Hi Tank!"

"Think you could run into the cabin and fetch your mom or dad for me?" she asks after he's had his fill petting the horse. "I need to talk to them for a few minutes."

Nathan nods enthusiastically and retrieves his glove and the ball from the ground. "Tommy, catch!" he yells as he tosses the ball back toward his oldest brother before running toward the cabin.

Emma fights back a chuckle, because Tommy, at the awkward age of fourteen, is distracted, gazing longingly at her. The ball smacks him in the arm before falling to the ground and he blushes furiously as he picks it up.

Peter, the middle child, laughs at him, singing, "Tommy likes Emmaaaaaa!" and Tommy just ends up stomping off toward the cabin, leaving Peter alone in the yard. Peter doesn't seem too bothered by this, because he simply collects a soccer ball from the grass and beings playing keep-up.

After a few minutes, the mother steps out of the cabin looking harried, making her way over to Emma. "Those boys," Karen huffs, shaking her head. "Nathan said you wanted to talk to me?"

Emma nods. "With dad taking the lesson girls to a show today and Killian's family arriving in town, the schedule has gotten a little crowded, so we were wondering if you guys would be okay with rescheduling your 3 o'clock trail ride to this evening around 8?" she asks. "The sunset should be beautiful and if the boys are interested, there's a great swimming pond not too far from here. We could stop there?"

Karen smiles. "You know what? That's a fantastic idea. Maybe it'll actually tire them out enough that they get to sleep at a decent time tonight."

"So we'll meet you guys out here a little before 8?" Emma confirms.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll let you get back, I'm sure you've got work to do, and the boys have been asking to head into town. Any chance you can recommend a good ice cream parlour?"

"Any Given Sundae has best selection in town. It's located right on Main Street next to Granny's. Just be sure to avoid the carrot sherbet; no clue what Ingrid was thinking when she put that out there."

Karen laughs at that as she turns and heads back to the cottage where Tommy is currently sulking on the porch. Emma leads Tank over to a picnic table and uses the seat to mount, waving goodbye to everyone before heading back down the driveway toward the barn.

She returns the gelding to his field and rejoins Killian in the barn to finish up the rest of the stalls. They toss hay down from the loft and scrub out water buckets, remove cobwebs from the rafters and sweep out the isles until the barn is spotless.

Mary Margaret calls them in for an early lunch of chicken Caesar wraps and quinoa salad; it's delicious and Emma is really starting to dread the day that she has to return to cooking for herself.

Her mother insists that Abigail and Colin join them for dinner tonight, and Emma reminds her that it can't be a late one because she and Killian have the sunset trail ride to attend to, and that Abigail and Colin will likely be tired and jetlagged from the drastic time change.

The first part of the afternoon is spent out on the trails with guests, and shortly after 2 o'clock, they return the last of the horses to the paddocks.

After running into the house to change into shorts, Emma opens up the bug, rolling down the windows to release the stifling heat within. Killian heads up to the apartment and returns with his wallet and phone in one hand, a moderate sized duffle in the other.

He sets the bag down on the floor of the garage to grab later. "Clothes and other odds and ends I'll require for the coming week," he explains. "They may be family, but I'd prefer not to be constantly intruding on their space to fetch a change of clothing."

"Makes sense," she agrees, nodding. "We can head out in a minute; I just need to clean out the back seat a bit."

She flips the passenger seat forward to reach into the back, pulling out an old pair of runners, a dirty pair of jeans, a winter jacket, and what she assumes is a pile of paperwork from her old job back in the city. Killian takes the items from her, chuckling, and puts them in the garage to be dealt with later. Several months worth of empty coffee cups and water bottles make it into the garbage and recycling bins, and a couple short minutes later, she's reasonably content with the state of her car.

"It's a little cramped back there," she says, frowning. The backseat of the bug isn't exactly spacious, and she hopes that Abigail won't be too uncomfortable sitting back there. She loves the old yellow car, but she's starting to wish she drove something a little more modern; something with functioning air conditioning, maybe.

Killian just smiles and takes her arm, steering her around to the driver's side with a hand at her back. "It'll be fine, love. Abigail's a tiny little thing; there's more than adequate leg room."

She settles into the driver's seat and buckles up, starting the car as Killian climbs into the passenger seat. Knotting her hair into a quick bun, she pulls on sunglasses and shifts the bug into gear, heading up the drive way.

Killian fiddles with the radio for the first few minutes of the drive, finally settling on a classic rock station as they reach the highway. He stares out the window for several more minutes, then takes out his phone and plays around on it for a while, fingers dancing over screens that he doesn't really seem to be focusing on. He keeps glancing over at her, fingers drumming against his thigh.

He's antsy and it's equal parts adorable and distracting. She doesn't know if it has to do with being alone in the car with her, or if it's excitement and nervous anticipation about seeing him family again, but she's never seen him this at loss for words, this restless, so when she sees the sign for an upcoming rest stop, she signals and changes lanes, making her way over to the exit.

She pulls into the first parking spot she sees and shifts the bug into park, taking off her sunglasses and turning in her seat to face him.

"You okay?" she asks.

He nods, forcing a smile to his face. "I'm fine, love. Why have we stopped?"

"Yeah, clearly you're not," she says pointedly, reaching out to take his hand, stilling his fingers on top of his thigh. "What's wrong, Killian?"

Sighing, he twists their fingers together, scrubbing his free hand over his face. "I'm happy that they're coming to visit, I am," he insists, perhaps a little too readily, "but seeing them again..."

She squeezes his hand. "They remind you of your brother."

He nods, a sad little smile pulling at the lines of his face.

She's never been very good at words and reassurances, and hugging him is something she'd very much like to do, so she slides to the edge of her seat and tugs on his hand. "Come here."

Hugging in the small car is a little awkward, but he comes to her willingly, tucking his face against her neck as he wraps an arm around her waist. It's not a long hug by any means, and she only has a moment to breathe him in, the lingering scent of spicy soap mostly erased by soil and sweat, before he's pulling back.

She smiles at him, and when he makes to release of her hand and slide back fully into his seat, she refuses let go. "Hold on a second there, Mister. I'm not quite done with you yet," she tells him.

Killian raises an eyebrow. "No?"

She shakes her head. "I've wanted to do this all day," she says, and then she's tugging on his shirt and meeting his lips in a kiss that turns heated in a heartbeat. His hands are hot against her ribcage where they've wandered beneath her t-shirt and she's got one hand in his hair, the other on his denim covered thigh, supporting her weight as she leans into him and tries to decide on the least awkward way to step over the gearshift and straddle his lap.

But she doesn't get that far, because a man in a tractor trailer rolls past, honking his horn and hollering a crude comment through the open window.

"Bloody arse," Killian groans and she bursts out laughing, her chest shaking with amusement as she drops her head to his shoulder.

He removes his hands from beneath her shirt and presses a kiss to her hair. "Perhaps that's a sign that we ought to be on our way again?"

Nodding, Emma lifts her head and places a kiss to roughness of his jaw before re-buckling her seat belt. He returns his hands to his lap and this time they're still; it seems the kiss has sufficiently distracted him from his restless fretting.

He doesn't make a move to retake her hand though, and she's starting to think that maybe he's still a little bit afraid to spook her, because he seems to be leaving it up to her to reach out for contact, to dictate the terms of this fledgling relationship, so once they're back out on the highway and up to speed, she lifts her hand from the gearshift and reaches out for him.

He takes her hand instantly, and she smiles at him warmly before shifting her eyes back to the road.

The rest of the drive passes with the radio turned up, laughing as he sings along to 80's rock ballads, the warm wind whipping in though the open windows, scenery flashing by in a blur of blue sky and green earth, and the only time he lets go of her hand, is when shifting gears requires it.

They arrive at the airport shortly after 4, and she pulls the bug into an empty spot in the pick-up/drop-off area. Killian's phone rings as she kills the engine, switching off the radio, and she can see Abigail's name flash across the screen before he answers.

"Hey," he says in greeting, "how was the flight?"

He pauses for a moment, smiling as he listens.

"Good, good. We're waiting out in the pick-up area; look for the bright yellow bug, you can't miss it." Another pause. "No, no, it's Emma's; I wound up with a flat last night so she offered to drive." He laughs. "All right, go on, we'll see you soon."

He disconnects the call and returns the phone to his pocket. "They just made their way through customs and are stopping by the bathrooms; they'll be out shortly."

"How was their flight?" she asks.

"Long, but otherwise, good," he says, shifting in his seat to face her. "It's a 16 hour trip with the two layovers and Colin hardly slept, so she's tired and he's blown right past exhaustion into hyperactive excitement."

"So she's got her hands full?"

"Aye," he nods. "I'm hoping once we get some ice cream into the lad and chase him around for a while; he'll finally be knackered enough to sleep."

"There's a little ice cream shop about ten minutes away," she suggests, "originally I was thinking of waiting until we got back closer to home, but if he's been sitting on a plane for the better part of a day, maybe we should try to tire him out now. There's a park next to the shop that's got swings, slides, and even a teeter totter. We could go there too?"

"Teeter totter?" he repeats, looking confused.

"You know? Those long boards on the playground where you pair up with a friend – when one end goes up, the other goes down?" she says, demonstrating the motion with her hand.

"Ah, a seesaw," he proclaims, realization flashing in his eyes.

"Teeter totter, seesaw, same thing," she says, and then she laughs. "Did I just use a phrase '_Mr. Extensive Vocabulary' _doesn't know?" Her tone is teasing and she pokes at his ribs, smiling when he grabs her hand in his own, lacing their fingers together.

"Differing regional dialects hardly count, love," he insists, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. "And yes, I'm certain Colin would enjoy a trip to the park."

"Then we'll do that," she confirms, fiddling with his hand, running her thumb over branching veins for a moment before releasing her hold and returning her grip to the steering wheel.

She'd really like to kiss him again, or even just maintain her grasp on his hand, but Abigail and Colin could appear at any moment, so she contents herself with tossing a smile his way, drumming her fingers against the leather material of the steering wheel while she observes the crowd.

People are starting to pile through the doors now, making their way to waiting cars and taxis, luggage rolling along behind them, wheels clattering over cracks and dips in the pavement.

After a minute, she catches sight of a petite brunette hauling a large suitcase with a car seat strapped to it, a little boy balanced on her hip, tugging on her hair. Emma's only seen them in pictures, but she's fairly certain she's spotted them.

"That them?" she asks, pointing toward them in the crowd.

"Aye, it is," Killian says, opening the door and stepping from the car.

He waves them over and hugs them both, taking Colin into his arms, resting the boy on his hip.

Opening her door, Emma steps out of the car and smiles as she watches the reunion. Killian tugs on Colin's ear and ruffles his unruly curls. "Been giving your ma a hard time, have you laddie?"

Colin bobs his little head, nodding proudly, and Killian chuckles.

Abigail just shakes her head and sets her luggage down, retying her frazzled hair. "I'll warn you now, Killian, if you ever find a lass who'll put up with ya, pray to any god that'll listen you wind up with a daughter. Ye Jones boys have got the devil in you," she chides, laughing.

Killian pretends to be offended, scowling through a laugh as he struggles to contain his squirming nephew. "I'd hardly term you a saint yourself there, lass."

Abigail scoffs and swats at him, then turns to face Emma. "Since it seems my dolt of a brother-in-law has no intentions of introducing us, I suppose I'll be doing it myself," she says, holding out her hand to Emma. "I'm Abi, and the wee munchkin here is Colin."

Emma takes her hand, shaking it firmly. "Emma," she replies, "it's great to finally meet you guys. Killian has told me so much about you both."

Abigail raises her eyebrows, gaze flickering to Killian. "Has he now?"

Emma nods. "He has."

"Well he's hardly spoken a word regarding you," Abigail accuses. "Mentioned he worked with you, but seems he forgot to mention just how pretty you are."

Killian blushes lightly, and Emma can't help but laugh. She had a hunch she was going to like Abigail, but she didn't have any idea just how much until this very moment. The woman seems to be very much like a big sister to Killian, teasing and scolding, constantly poking fun, and Emma can't wait to witness more of it.

"He can be a little bit of a wallflower, can't he?" Emma badgers, grinning.

"Aye, he still goes scarlet like a virgin lass at the right words," Abigail mocks. "Just you wait, Emma; I've plenty of tales to tell you over the next week. I've known this fool since he was a scrawny seventeen years old."

Killian groans. "Bloody hell, if I'd any notion the two of you were going to gang up on me like this, I never would've asked you to come visit."

"Oh quit yer whining and watch your nephew while we load up the luggage," Abigail bids, detaching the car seat from the suitcase.

Emma opens the door, pushing the seat forward, and it doesn't take long for Abigail to secure the car seat in place while Emma opens the trunk and tucks away the luggage.

She smiles at Killian, hoping it comes across as slightly apologetic, and he grins back, nodding in understanding as he tickles a screeching Colin.

Getting Colin into the car seat is a bit of a challenge, but the promise of ice cream seems to temporarily pacify him and soon they're all piled into the bug, driving through the city to the ice cream shop by the park.

There's a free parking lot by the playground, so she pulls the bug in there and they walk over to the ice cream shop, Colin perched on top of Killian's shoulders, little hands grasping in his hair. Killian winces slightly a few times when the boy pulls too hard and calmly reminds him to be gentle.

It takes several minutes for Colin to finally decide on a flavour, but in the end he goes with Emma's suggestion of SuperKid – a banana, strawberry, and blueberry flavoured confection in bright primary coloured swirls. Abigail chooses Triple Chocolate Truffle, and she and Killian both wind up with a scoop of French Crisp.

As promised, Killian pays.

Wandering back over to the park with ice cream in hand, Killian leads the way with Colin, holding his hand and keeping a close watch to make sure the ice cream doesn't meet a devastating end upon the sidewalk.

Emma falls back to walk in time with Abigail, who appears more than content to pass the duty of caring for her son off to Killian.

"You must be tired, huh?" Emma asks.

"Aye, right bushed," Abigail answers. "Think I'll be ready to sleep shortly after we arrive."

"Well if you're up for it, my mom will have dinner ready when we get back and she'd be thrilled if you two joined us," Emma offers as they walk up a set of stairs leading to the grassy expanse of the park. "And I know we're pretty much strangers, but if you need someone to watch Colin at any point during the week, she'd be thrilled."

"Dinner sounds lovely; be a welcome change to have someone else do the cooking, and if your mum is eager to babysit, far be it from me to dissuade her. Besides, yer hardly strangers, leastways not your parents; Killian's told me plenty about them, how they took him in and offered him a job with the horses. 'Tis you he's been quiet about."

Emma laughs, not really sure how to reply to that, She's thankfully saved from providing an answer when Colin turns back and calls, "Ma! Swings!"

"Finish your cone first," she calls back, "then Uncle Killy will give you a push on the swings."

Saturday sees the small park crowded with families, and the picnic tables are all occupied, so they end up finding a spot in the grass beneath the shade of a towering birch, settling down to finish their ice cream.

The stillness lasts for all of thirty seconds before Colin shoves his unfinished ice cream cone at his mother, tugs impatiently on Killian's sleeve, points at the swings, and takes off running.

Shaking his head, Killian pulls the wrapper from his cone, shoves the remainder in his mouth, and then hands Emma the garbage with a grin before following his nephew, scooping him up in a hug that elicits a squeal loud enough to sound clear across the park.

Emma watches as they head over to the swings, Killian lifting the boy to place him securely in a seat. She can't make out what Killian is saying to his nephew, but Colin's laughter carries back to them on the warm breeze, light and joyous and she finds herself smiling as she finishes off the last of her ice cream, crumpling her wrapper together with Killian's in her left hand.

"He'll make an excellent father one day," Abigail says quietly. "Man's got so much of his brother in him; sometimes it's like staring at a ghost." She pauses, her brow creasing. "I take it he told you about Liam, aye?"

Emma nods solemnly. "He did." She pauses, searching for the right words; failing. "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine what that must have been like for you."

Abigail smiles and pats Emma's hand. "S'alright, I've made my peace with it. I just consider myself blessed to have Colin. The lad's a handful and drives me up the wall more often than not, but I wouldn't trade him for the world," she says. "So, Emma, tell me about yourself. You were not around when Killian first started working for your family, I gather?"

"No, I'd been living down in the States for about five years. Moved down there with my ex to go to school, but when things went south between us at the end of May, I ended up coming home," Emma explains, the words coming out easily, without even the slightest pang in her chest. It's a testament to just how over Neal she really is.

"So you decided to work for your parents again?" Abigail asks.

Emma nods. "It made sense; the needed to hire someone for the summer anyway, and I've always enjoyed the work."

"Killian seems to enjoy it too. Tells me how peaceful it is, what magnificent creatures the horses are."

She smiles at the truth in the statement. "He's right, it's hard work; early mornings and long days, but there's something grounding about it, something incredibly rewarding. Have you ever been horseback riding?" Emma asks, glancing over to where Killian is now helping Colin climb the steps up to a slide.

"Not since I was a young lass," Abigail tells her, looking wistful. "I had hoped that you and Killian might offer to take me out sometime this week?"

"Of course! We've usually got plenty of free time in the evenings, so we'll pick a day once you two are settled," she offers.

They talk about the horses for a while longer, discussing the ins and outs of life on the ranch until Killian calls her over, requesting another person for the teeter totter.

"Go on," Abigail insists. "Help tire out that lad of mine."

Rising from the grass, Emma tosses the garbage in a nearby bin before joining Killian and Colin by the teeter totter.

She straddles the bright yellow seat and Killian leads Colin over to her side. "You're going to sit with Emma, all right, lad?"

Colin nods "Kay!" he exclaims, holding his arms out to Emma.

Laughing, Emma scoops him up by the armpits, lifting him into position in front of her, wrapping one arm around his middle and using her free hand to take hold of the handlebar.

Killian moves to the other seat and slowly sinks his weight down onto it, levering them upwards.

Colin giggles gleefully as they rise into the air, then shrieks again when Killian pushes off, dropping them back to the ground. She pushes off next, sending them skyward once more, and together they find a steady rhythm of rise and fall that has Colin giggling endlessly and shouting "Again! Again! Again!"

She's breathless with laughter by the time they abandon the teeter totter to give a group of kids a turn. They end up taking Colin back to the slides where he plays for several more long minutes until his feet start to drag, exhaustion finally settling in.

Heading back to rejoin Abigail in the grass, they collapse to the ground, grinning as Colin flops down in his mother's lap.

"Duty as uncle fulfilled!" Killian proclaims, closing his eyes as he makes a dramatic slump backwards to lie in the grass, legs sprawled out in front of him. "Lad's all yours now."

Laughing, Abigail stands, pulling Colin up with her. "I think we'll stop by the washrooms quickly. Meet you by the car in a few minutes?"

"Aye," he answers without opening his eyes.

Emma watches as Abigail leads Colin across the grass to the bank of public washrooms located on the far edge of the parking lot. When the two disappear through the door into the small building, she turns back to Killian who is still reclined on the ground, watching her with his arms folded behind his head.

He grins at her and nudges her knee with his foot.

He looks relaxed and happy, and if they weren't in the middle of a very public park, she might actually consider crawling over and straddling his lap. Probably not entirely appropriate.

Instead, remaining cross legged, she shifts a little closer, to where his right leg is stretched out and offers her hands to pull him up. He reaches out to take her hands, but makes no effort whatsoever to aid her attempts in tugging him upright; he just lies there, swaying, dead weight, barely containing his laughter.

"I should just leave you here on the ground," she mutters, digging in her heels as her ass scoots across the lawn. She'll be lucky if she doesn't wind up with grass stains.

Killian only laughs harder. The idiot is actively fighting her attempts now.

"I'm beginning to think Abi wasn't too far off the mark when she said you had the devil in you," Emma groans, giving one last fruitless tug. "Tell you what, you sit up before Abigail and Colin get out of that bathroom and I'll make it worth your while."

He's sitting upright in a heartbeat, looking at her intently, and she doesn't think she's ever seen him move that fast.

"It's not kind to toy with a man, Emma," he says, leaning forward, thumbs brushing slowly over the backs of her hands.

Rising up on her knees, she grins and releases his hands to balance her weight against his thighs. Then, leaning forward, she presses a chaste his to his lips, whispering, "but it's so much fun."

He sighs when she pulls back, chasing her lips.

Standing, she offers her hand again, and this time when he takes it, he allows her to pull him up. He frowns, pouts really, and she reaches out to brush a stray leaf from the back of his shirt.

"Later," she promises, giving his hand one last squeeze before dropping it.

"I'll hold you to that, love," he says, eyeing her as they make their way over to the bug.

Killian offers to drive, insisting that she sit back and relax, and the trip home to the ranch is quiet. Colin falls asleep tucked into his car seat not five minutes after they leave, and when Abigail dozes off shortly after that, Emma reaches out to turn off the radio, fingers colliding with Killian's as he moves to do the same thing. He smiles at her and she smiles back, trailing her fingers over his before she leans back in her seat, tilting her head toward the window to watch the scenery flying past.

It's just almost 6:30 when they arrive back at the ranch and Killian parks the bug next to the garage. Abigail wakes when Emma opens and closes the passenger door. Getting out, Emma moves to the trunk to grab the luggage, setting it by the stairs leading up to the apartment.

"I'll let Killian take you up and show you around," Emma says. "When you're ready, come over to the house, dinner will be waiting."

Abigail thanks her, pulling a drowsy Colin from the car seat.

Before heading into the house, Emma pokes her head into the barn. The horses are in and fed and lesson girls have already left. Her father is in the tack room, rolling up polo wraps, and he looks up when she enters.

"Made it there and back in one piece?" he asks.

"Yup, Killian's just getting them set up in the apartment, then they'll be in to join us for dinner," she replies, grabbing a tangled wrap from the pile. "They're pretty tired from the flight and the time change, and Killian and I have to head back out here to get ready for that trail ride around 7:30, so make sure mom doesn't keep them long, okay?"

Her father chuckles. "I'll do my best, but you know how she is."

Shaking her head in laughter, she helps her father quickly roll up the rest of the polos before they head into the house. The kitchen is rich with the scent of apple pie and candied pork, and her mother is scurrying around in an apron, stirring pots on the stove while attempting to fold napkins.

"Need a hand?" Emma asks as she heads to the sink to wash her hands. Her father disappears down the hall to change his clothes.

"Oh good, you're home!" her mother exclaims. "Could you set the table and mix up the salad? There's fresh lemonade in the fridge and if you check the hall closet, I think we still have that booster seat!"

As instructed she sets the table, laying out placemats, dishes and cutlery before grabbing two fold out chairs and the booster seat from the closet. After adding ice to the jug of lemonade, she mixes up the salad, taking inventory of the food on the stove. There's cooked carrots keeping warm in a pot and her mother mashes minced garlic, milk, and butter with boiled potatoes in another pot. When Mary Margaret opens the oven door to pull out the apple pie, Emma gets a peek at the apple butter pork and a cheesy cauliflower bake.

Her mother went all out. She really shouldn't be this surprised.

David returns to the kitchen as she sets the salad on the table and she's double checking that the booster seat is secured to the chair just as the screen door opens and Killian walks through with Colin clinging to his leg, wide awake once more. Abigail follows them through, prying her son from Killian long enough for everyone to take off their shoes.

Introductions are exchanged and Colin and Abigail make fast friends with Duke in the hall as David and Mary Margaret transfer the food to serving dishes, shuffling them around on the crowded table before calling everyone to eat.

Dinner is delicious and conversation is mostly relegated to Colin starting nursery school in September and Abigail's career as a speech pathologist, working with young children. Mary Margaret is fascinated by the subject and by the time they finish up dessert, Emma's reasonably sure her father is going to have a hell of a time prying the two women apart.

Excusing herself from the table, she heads to her room to change back into jeans for the trail ride, grabbing a thin sweater to knot around her waist. When she returns, Mary Margaret and Abigail have relocated with Colin to the living room floor and David is loading up the dishwasher.

"Killian went out to get started on tacking up the horses," her father tells her.

"Thanks dad," she calls as she tugs on her boots, allowing the screen door to slam shut behind her as she jogs across the driveway.

It's twenty to eight when she arrives in the barn and she's thankful that they don't have to fetch the horses from the field because they're running behind as it is. Killian has two ready to go and she quickly helps with the other five, choosing horses and ponies that require the least amount of brushing, spraying them with bug repellent before passing them along to Killian to saddle.

Sunset trail rides can be beautiful, but the mosquitoes are brutal without adequate protection, so before they lead the horses outside, she grabs an aerosol can of bug spray and steps outside to douse herself. Killian follows her out to do the same and they take turns spraying each other's backs.

She grabs a radio and a flashlight and clips them to her belt before strapping helmets for the boys to the saddles (her parents have always required anyone under the age of eighteen to wear one, so they have a number available for the younger guests).

Arranging the horses and mounting, they head up the driveway toward the cabins, the evening sun golden and warm as it casts long shadows upon the gravel path.

The Robinson's are ready and waiting outside when she and Killian arrive, and as they set about fitting helmets and tightening girths, Emma asks Karen if the boys are still interested in swimming, wanting to plan out the trails accordingly. They are, so she helps them pack away their towels in the saddlebags while Killian helps everyone up onto their horses.

With everyone mounted and ready to head out, Emma gives the usual speech detailing basic steering and stopping before turning to lead the way. She takes them over golden hay fields, through forest scattered with rays of sunlight, and finally across a shallow stream, dismounting when they reach the swimming pond.

Killian helps her secure the horses to the makeshift tying post and then they lean back against the solid log to watch as the boys play with their father in the water, splashing and shouting as their mother takes pictures from the bank.

Emma allows the family to enjoy the pond, taking the time to bask in the beauty surrounding her; the warm breeze curling through tall grass, the explosion of wildflowers in the meadow beyond, reds and purples and whites and yellows, the way the sun reddens, a fiery blush softening harsh tones of vivid green, scintillating, refracting off the surface of the pond, casting haphazard rainbows as sunset approaches and the day comes to an end.

Beside her, Killian leans heavily against the post, his eyes closed as he breathes deep with his face tilted toward the sun. It's times like this, when the evening sun brings out the red in his beard, that she really sees the Irish in him.

It also reminds her just how much she'd like to kiss him again, but that'll have to wait, so for now she contents herself with admiring the line of his jaw and counting freckles she's never really taken the time to notice.

She's staring at him and even with his eyes closed, he knows it. A smile tugs at his lips, slowly transforming into a full-blown grin as he opens his eyes and turns his head to look at her.

"Enjoying the view, love?" he says, nudging her arm with his own, and she's struck with a sense of déjà vu, a memory of him saying those exact same words at sunrise a week ago.

Last time her answer had been sarcastic, cheeky. This time she just smiles back and speaks the simple truth; "I am."

Funny how things can change in a week.

The Robinson's are having fun, so they end up watching the sunset right there next to the pond, packing up and heading back to the cabins when the sky beings to grow dark and stars twinkle into view.

They say farewell to the family and by the time they return to the barn, the last hint of twilight has retreated from the western horizon. The apartment above the garage is already dark, and Emma hopes that means Colin and Abigail got to sleep at a reasonable time.

Dismounting, she flicks the lights on in the barn. The horses in their stalls nicker loudly in greeting and she smiles at the predictability of it all; the way that, without fail, when someone walks into the empty barn, at least one of the herd will loudly demand to be fed.

Together they quickly un-tack the horses, returning them to their stalls before lugging saddles and bridles to the tack room, tucking everything away on the proper hooks and racks. They throw hay and refill water buckets, then they sweep the aisle, meeting in the middle, laughing when they get in each other's way.

"Go grab your bag from the garage, I'll finish up here," she tells Killian, fighting a yawn. "And feel free to use the shower, just be sure to leave me some hot water."

"No promises, love," he says grinning, trailing his fingers down her arm before he hangs up the broom and strolls out into the night.

Goosebumps arise in the wake of his touch and the shiver that rattles its way up her spine has little to do with the night breeze gusting in through the open barn doors.

Shaking her head and trying not to think about Killian using her shower, she finishes sweeping and checks that the stall doors are latched. She grabs a bale of hay and places it in the wheelbarrow, pushing it outside before flipping off the lights and closing the doors behind her.

She tosses hay to the horses still quarantined in the corrals and checks their water troughs, slipping into the pens for a moment to pet them, checking them over in the harsh glow of the floodlight mounted above the barn doors. The horses really are going to need names eventually, but it's something they've almost always done as a family, and now she finds herself wanting to lump Killian under that heading.

The thought still scares her and she wonders if a day will ever come when it no longer does.

Yawning again, she pushes it from her mind and locks up the corrals, switching the floodlight off before making her way across the darkened yard to the dimly lit house.

Suddenly tired, she pulls herself up the steps of the porch with her hand on the railing, looking forward to a quick shower before falling into bed. Several large moths flit and flutter around where the porch light illuminates the screen door, flinging themselves at the bulb and the glass, caught in the inane dance of phototactic mesmerism.

She shoos them away with her hand as she opens the door, pulling it shut quickly behind her as she kicks off her boots and tosses her sweater in the general direction of the coat hooks. It misses by half an inch, falling to the floor where she glares at it before electing to leave it until tomorrow.

The house is quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the creaking of pipes as the shower in her room shuts off.

Her parents must have already gone to bed and it sounds like Killian is just finishing up in the shower, so she wanders into the dark kitchen and flicks on the light above the stove.

Pulling a knife and fork from the drawer, she uncovers the pie and scoops a small slice onto a plate, popping it in the microwave for thirty seconds.

She grabs a glass of water from the tap and stops the microwave before the timer can go off, carrying her snack into the living room. The pull-out couch is extended and made up, and in the middle of the damn thing, Duke is waiting expectantly with his head on his paws.

He looks up when she walks in and he appears disappointed at discovering that it's just her.

"Traitor," she whispers, sinking down in the arm chair with her feet propped up on the bed by his nose.

He snuffles against her feet and rests his paw overtop of her ankle.

"Suck up all you want, bud, I'm still not sharing my pie with you," she tells the dog, laughing when he huffs and flops over dramatically, tail thumping violently against the mattress.

"Any chance you'll share with me, love?" Killian asks quietly from behind her and she startles, almost upending what's left of her pie on the floor.

"God, Killian, _don't do that_!" she hisses.

"I'll take that as a no?" he says, bending to press a kiss to her hair.

It's such an unexpectedly sweet gesture that her pie almost meets its end on the floor a second time. She should probably scold him for it, but no one else is awake and Duke's not likely to spill her secrets, so she lets it be.

"There's more in the kitchen if you want some," she tells him.

"Nah, it's better when it's somebody else's," he replies, grinning as he lifts the blankets and pushes Duke over, climbing into the bed.

"I'd not be opposed to a goodnight kiss though, should you be willing to give it." It's barely a whisper, spoken quietly enough that she could simply pretend not to have heard him should it suit her, but instead she finds herself swallowing the last bite of pie and standing to lean over the bed, pressing a soft kiss to his waiting lips. Minty toothpaste clings to his breath and his hand twists in her hair, not pulling her down, just holding her there for a second as he smiles against her lips and bumps their noses together.

"G'night, love," he whispers allowing her to pull back.

"Goodnight, Killian."

It takes her a moment to gather her wits and straighten, returning to the kitchen to stack her dishes in the sink and switch off the light above the stove. When she heads back into the darkened living room Killian has already turned off the television, and in the pale moonlight streaming through the gap in the curtains, she can barely make out the shape of him curled beneath the blankets with Duke sprawled out, snoring at his hip.

She steps over Duke's bed in the hallway and enters her room, dumping her clothes on the floor as she heads into the bathroom. Moisture still clings to the mirror from Killian's shower, and when she pulls back the curtain, she finds that his shampoo and body wash have taken up residence next to hers on the ledge.

She's surprised at first, but really it makes sense; she didn't expect him to use her girly soaps and shampoos, and moving supplies back and forth from the shower to his bag seems like wasted time and effort. It's still strange though, to see men's bath products in her shower after having finally gotten used to their absence.

Looking at the clock on the wall she shakes her head and steps into the shower, making quick work of scrubbing away the day's dirt and grime so she can finally crawl into bed and get some sleep. Curiosity demands that she pop the lid on Killian's body wash, and she inhales the spicy, familiar scent before reluctantly returning the bottle to the ledge and grabbing her own.

She rushes through the rest of her bedtime routine, brushes her teeth and pulls on pyjama shorts and a tank top before throwing a dry towel over her pillow and collapsing into bed with wet hair; it'll be a mess come morning, but that's what ponytails are for.

Closing her eyes, sleep claims her almost instantly.

* * *

It's still dark when she wakes, pulled from slumber by a noise she can't quite pinpoint. The faint numbers on her alarm clock read 4:36 and she pushes herself upright, listening carefully. She hears the clatter of Duke's nails against the hardwood, mumbled words, and then the unmistakable creak of the screen door opening.

Sliding from bed she opens her door and pads quietly down the hall into the living room. The bed is empty, blankets twisted in an awful heap at the end. Duke sits in the kitchen doorway and stares at the screen door, whimpering pitifully when he catches sight of her.

"Did Killian go out there?" she asks the dog, crouching to press a kiss to his snout. He whines quietly again and licks her cheek. "He did, didn't he? Don't worry, old man, you go back to sleep, I'll go check on him."

The old dog doesn't move from his spot in the doorway, just simply slides down to the floor and rests his head on his paws, content to wait.

Sighing, Emma moves through the kitchen to the mudroom, grabbing her fallen sweater from the floor to pull on as she steps into sandals.

The night air is comfortably warm against her bare legs when she steps out onto the porch and she doesn't bother zipping up the sweater as she heads down the steps, surveying the yard in the moonlight. She checks the barn first, but the horses are sleeping soundly and there's no sign of him in there. The quarantine pens are quiet as well and she finds no trace of him there or by the fire pit.

It's almost as if he's disappeared, vanished into the night, but his Jeep is still parked next to the garage and she feels silly for even thinking it.

If she had to guess, she'd say he had a nightmare; probably reliving his brother's death. He likely just needs time to process, to breathe. She could just go back inside, go back to bed, she's sure he'd be fine in the morning, but something stops her, something pushes one foot in front of the other again, walking the shadowed property until she catches a glimpse of movement in the moonlight, out in one of the fields beneath a lone willow tree.

Climbing over the fence, she makes her way through the grass toward him. He stands facing the trunk, palms pressed against bark, head bowed, chin nearly touching his chest. He doesn't move as she approaches, doesn't even seem to notice her presence.

"Hey," she whispers softly, not wanting to startle him.

The only indication that he even hears her comes in the form of a sharp inhale and shaky exhale. He doesn't turn to face her, doesn't speak, just remains facing the tree in stationary silence.

Stepping closer, she places her hands against his shoulders, running her palms down his back, over tense muscle to wrap her arms around his middle, fingers linked together over his stomach. She presses her cheek to the warm cotton covering his spine and folds herself against his back, hugging him.

His breath hitches, a tremor coursing through his frame as he sniffles, and her heart breaks for him. She doesn't know what to do, what to say, how to make his better, so she just presses a kiss between his shoulder blades and holds him tighter, holds him together.

She's not sure how long they stand like that in the effulgent light of the moon, but eventually Killian turns in her arms to face her, silver tear trails faint upon his cheeks, telltale evidence of his sorrow.

"You should go back to bed, love, get some more sleep," he tells her, hands settling on her hips.

"I will if you will," she bargains, already knowing his answer.

"If we were sharing a bed, I could probably be persuaded, but seeing as that's not the case, I very much doubt I'll be closing my eyes again tonight." He sighs and presses a kiss to her forehead before pulling back. "You really ought to go back inside, Emma, there's no reason for you to be awake at this hour, you've already lost enough sleep..."

She hears the unspoken '_because_ of me', hears the guilt in his voice, so she reaches out and places her hand against his cheek, stroking, smiling. "I'm good right here," she tells him. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

That gets a small smile out of him and she pulls back, nodding toward the ground. "Sit."

He does as told, sitting back against the trunk of the tree and she settles down in front of him, within the v of his legs, leaning back against his chest before grabbing his hands and prompting him to wrap his arms around her middle.

Sighing happily, she snuggles back into the heat of him, tracing invisible patterns over his forearms.

He tightens his hold on her and presses his nose into her hair. "What are we doing, love?" he asks quietly against her ear.

"Sitting," she supplies vaguely, and even though she can't see it, she can easily envision the raised eyebrow he must be giving her.

"Waiting for the sun to rise," she eventually adds.

After a moment she feels him exhale, feels the tension finally leave his body, feels it in the way he softens just slightly against her, wraps her a little more fully in his arms.

They're quiet for a long while, seated beneath the willow tree, and she gazes out past the cascading curtain of leaves upon gently swaying branches, out into the dark landscape of shadowed hills. Predawn mist crawls over the grass in the eastern valley, an ethereal eidolon in the moonlight, a luminous body of water droplets suspended in the night air.

She finds it oddly comforting that while much of the world still slumbers, she and Killian are far from the only creatures awake at this hour. The trilling chirp of crickets sound loudly in the night, constant, melodic, somehow soothing, mixing with birdsong signalling the impending dawn. The eerie call of a loon echoes from a nearby pond and in the distance she can heard the yipping and howling of coyotes.

Wind chimes hanging from a tree by the house compose a soft song carried on a languid breeze and she hums in contentment. There's a certain sort of harmony in the dissonance of it all, peace in the chaos, and she links her fingers with Killian's, watching as the sky gradually lightens, daybreak chasing the stars from view.

When the bright morning sun finally crests, rising above the distant hills, golden warmth spilling over the horizon, Killian presses a kiss to her hair and whispers, "Thank you."

He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. She gets it. Gets that touch and quiet company can often do more for a person than words ever can; it's part of why she loves animals as much as she does.

Turning in his arms, she shifts to face him, kneeling between his legs, balancing herself with a palm against his chest. His hands have fallen to his sides and he watches her closely, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her lips, waiting patiently for her to be the one to make a move.

Smiling she runs her fingers through his hair, messing it up, relishing the fact that she can do this, that she can touch him, that it's allowed, and then she kisses him, slowly, almost hesitantly, leaning into him, curling her fingers in the short locks at the nape of his neck as his heart beats steadily beneath her palm.

And he kisses her back, cups her neck and tangles his fingers in her hair, drawing his thumb along her jaw to skim over her lower lip and chin as he pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, breathing deep, slightly shaky, before guiding her head and kissing her again.

His hand comes up, slipping beneath the material of her shirt and sweater, gliding over her spine and she expects the kiss to escalate, grow hotter, faster, but somehow it doesn't, if anything it slows, deepens, fire burning through her veins as her heart constricts painfully and she doesn't know if she should moan or sob, stay or flee, because she's fairly certain she's never been kissed like this before and it's terror all wrapped up in a mess of tender, exhilarating potential.

Her breath sticks in her chest as panic wars with want and something else she's not quite ready for, something she's certainly not prepared to name, and she wants to run, collapse, fall to pieces, be here and be anywhere else, because as much as she wants this, she's fucking terrified, terrified by how much she already feels for this man, because she has no clue when it happened, but she's pretty sure she's already passed the point of no return, made a move she can't come back from, if he leaves, if he breaks her heart...

Her head spins and her hands are numb where they cling to the fabric of his shirt and suddenly she realizes they're no longer kissing, that her forehead rests against his shoulder and his hands are on her back, overtop of her sweater. He's urging her to breathe, slowly, in and out, in time with his gentle words until the fog clears and she comes to the conclusion that she definitely just had a little bit of a panic attack.

He continues rubbing his hand soothingly over her spine and after a minute she pulls back to look up at him, sitting down on her heels. She's a little bit mortified, but he just smiles at her and says, "Don't take this the wrong way, love, but when women fall apart at my feet, it's usually from pleasure, not panic."

Hanging her head, laughter shakes its way up through her chest as she mumbles "I'm sorry."

"Hey," he whispers, lifting her chin so she's looking at him. "I'm just glad you didn't run," he tells her honestly.

She snorts rather inelegantly. "No, I just had a panic attack instead. I'm sure that's much better," she says sarcastically.

"I think you're forgetting who you found crying outside under a tree in the middle of night," he reminds her, a fair amount of self-deprecation evident in his voice.

"That's different," she protests.

"Is it?" he asks, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Fear and pain are valid emotions, darling, they hold no less weight because of their cause."

She exhales loudly when he takes her hand and attempts to force some sort of sad half-smile to her lips.

"I won't leave you, Emma, and I swear I'll never intentionally do anything to hurt you. Tell me what I need to do to make you believe that, love, and I'll do it."

There's sincerity in his eyes, and just as much in his voice, and she wants to believe him, she really does, but it's not that simple. It's never that simple.

"I don't know, Killian," she whispers, frowning, shrugging her shoulders.

She really doesn't. She wishes she did.

Rising to his feet, Killian pulls her up with him, tugging her into a hug that she doesn't bother to fight.

"We've all the time in the world to figure that out." He presses a kiss to her forehead and rests his cheek against her hair. "And we will. Together."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Once again, sorry for the terribly long wait. Life just runs away with me sometimes. This chapter was originally going to be longer, but then I realized it was already really long and I found a good place to split it, so... Here it is! :)

* * *

She doesn't run. Not really. Not in the physical sense at least.

She allows him to hug her for a moment longer, wrapped in the security of his arms, hating herself just a little bit for needing this, needing him, before she pulls back and reminds him that they need to get back to the house; get dressed, eat breakfast, and get to work. Those are the words she uses, but what she really means (and they both know it) is that they need to get back before her parents wake, before anyone notices anything out of the ordinary, because as far as the waking world is concerned, they're just friends, they work together, nothing more.

The night can hold her secrets in its silent grasp. It's safer that way.

She knows that this is hard on him; she's sees the hurt, the sadness, the uncertainty flicker across his face, catches sight of it before he covers it up, hides it away behind an understanding smile and a nod of his head, gesturing for her to lead the way.

As she walks back toward the house, morning dew upon the grass, cold and wet against her feet, she tries not to feel guilty for the relief coursing through her chest when he doesn't kiss her again and doesn't push her to talk. She tries, and she fails, because the entire way back she can feel his eyes on her, feel the weight of his stare, and with each step it grows heavier, settling in her chest and her heart and her lungs, and she has to remind herself to breathe again, but the words come to her in his soothing voice, his rough accent, a ghost against her ear, and the urge to turn and fold herself up in his arms is stronger than ever.

Fighting the almost magnetic pull, she pushes herself up the steps and quietly through the screen door, mindful to hold it open long enough that he can reach out and grab it.

Duke stands and finally abandons his patient vigil in the doorway, his tail wagging excitedly as he greets them in the mudroom. Killian reaches out to pet him and she takes the opportunity to slip away down the hall to her bedroom.

She closes the door quietly behind her and sits down on the bed, head in her hands.

Running her fingers over her lips she can still feel his kiss there, hell, she can still feel it in her bones, and she knows right then and there that any attempts to gather and make sense of her thoughts will be useless; her mind is still racing, scattered, flitting back and forth from one thought to another like a disoriented hummingbird.

So instead she resolves to push it all down for now – she's good at that – always has been, probably always will be.

A little voice in her head speaks up and tells her that this looks an awful lot like running. The voice sounds suspiciously like Killian and she sighs, rubbing at her eyes.

"I'm not running," she whispers to herself. "I'm temporarily avoiding my feelings."

Unbidden, a scoff rises to her lips, because even she knows that those are one and the same. She might not physically be running, but building up walls and burying your head in the sand are pretty damn similar. If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck...

Groaning, she stands and reaches for the jeans tossed over the chair in the corner. She doesn't have time for this right now.

She dress quickly and takes a deep breath, schooling her features before she opens her door and heads down the hallway. The pull-out bed in the living room is made up neatly, blankets tucked and folded around the edges and she can hear Killian in the kitchen, talking to Duke over the unmistakable sound of bacon sizzling in the frying pan.

Right, somehow she's gone forgotten that him giving up the apartment to Abigail and Colin for the week means that he'll be cooking and eating here in her kitchen – a kitchen she's used to having to herself most mornings.

Hesitantly she pokes her head into the room. It's early still, earlier than she usually rises, but it seems he's taken that into account because he's started the coffee before the timer has it scheduled to brew and is standing by the stove, still in his pyjamas, shuffling bacon with one hand while he pours what looks like pancake batter onto the griddle with the other.

He doesn't turn, doesn't even look at her, but somehow he knows she's there because he's asking her if she could wash and chop up the strawberries in the fridge.

She didn't even think they had strawberries, but sure enough when she opens the fridge, there they are. There's also a watermelon, a second carton of eggs, a jug of juice she doesn't recognize, and several pounds of fresh tilapia shoved in next to a grocery bag full of fruits and vegetables.

"Did you go shopping?" she asks as she brings the container of strawberries to the sink and grabs the paring knife from the block.

"Aye, I figured since your parents were kind enough to allow me use of the couch for the week, the least I could do was purchase some groceries and contribute to the odd meal," he tells her, flipping the perfectly round pancakes. "I was thinking of making fish tacos for supper tonight."

Frowning, she places the rinsed strawberries on a paper towel and reaches into the cupboard next to him for a bowl. "You're going to cook for all of us?"

He nods and a hint of red colours the tips of his ears.

"You don't have to do that," she tells him quietly, focusing her attention on hulling the strawberries, partially because she doesn't feel like slicing open a finger, but mostly because it's an excuse not to meet his eyes.

"I know I don't have to, love," he says, suddenly standing much closer than he was before. "But I want to. I don't show my appreciation for your family often enough. I'd like to do so by cooking you all a nice meal."

Stilling her hands, she looks up at him, unable to stop herself. "And what do you call this?" She gestures to the food on the stove.

"Breakfast," he deadpans, and she closes her eyes, shaking her head as she laughs once, quietly, a small smile playing at her lips.

"You know what I mean," she insists.

He nods and steps back toward the stove, moving the finished pancakes to a plate before flipping the bacon. "I do, I just wasn't sure you wanted to hear that _this_," he waves his hand, indicating the meal, "is me appreciating you."

She sighs. She just had to ask, didn't she?

"Killian..." It's a whisper. A plea. A protest. Something else? She isn't quite sure.

"This is me appreciating you as a friend and a co-worker and whatever else we may or may not be, all right, love? I've no ulterior motives here. We both need to eat and I wanted to do something nice for you." It's his turn to sigh as he sets down the spatula to rub at the lines on his forehead. "Is that such a terrible thing?"

"No, it's not," she reluctantly admits, returning her attention to slicing the strawberries into symmetrical halves, tossing them into the bowl as she works.

He's silent for a minute, adding more batter to the griddle and she foolishly thinks that's the end of the discussion.

Obviously it's not, because seconds later her turns toward her again, his face open, guileless. He doesn't touch her, doesn't even move closer. "You can run from me, Emma, put up walls and try to push me away, but I'm not going anywhere. At the end of the day, every day, I'll still be here."

He doesn't wait for an answer, doesn't seem to expect one, he just returns to cooking, flipping pancakes and poking at the bacon, and for that she's grateful, because she's too busy staring at the counter and furiously blinking back tears to give him one.

When she wins the battle with her traitorous eyes and her vision clears, she finishes slicing the strawberries. She sits the bowl on the table grabs the syrup from the door of the fridge. "Orange juice or whatever the hell this is other stuff is?" she asks him, proud that her voice doesn't waver in the slightest.

"Whatever your heart desires, love."

Grabbing the jug of what turns out to be white peach cranberry juice, she curses his choice of words, knowing they were intentional. Nearly everything the lovable asshole says and does is intentional.

She places the juice on the table with the glasses and cutlery before pulling mugs from the cupboard and pouring coffee. She adds a splash of cream to hers and then grabs the milk and sugar for his. He lifts a knowing eyebrow and she just glares right back at him. He's not the only one who pays attention; she knows how he takes his coffee.

She brings the coffees to the table and takes a seat, pouring juice as he turns off the burners and unties her mother's floral apron from around his waist – she bursts out laughing – how the hell did she not notice that?

Probably because she was busy trying to look at anything but him.

Killian just grins at her and hangs it up in the pantry before carrying two plates over to the table, placing one in front of her. Several rich scents waft upwards and she can't help but smile when she realizes he added dark chocolate chips to the pancakes.

The man certainly knows the way to her heart. Now she just has to figure out how to trust him with it.

Adding strawberries and syrup to the pancakes, she digs in eagerly, resisting the urge to moan in approval only because she knows the look he'll give her if she does.

Twenty minutes ago if you'd asked her if she was hungry, the answer would have been no; swirling emotions and panic attacks generally don't make for much of an appetite, but her turbulent mental state seems to have settled now and she'd be lying if she said her mouth hadn't watered at the first scent of bacon.

The silence is still a little awkward though, so after swallowing a mouthful of bacon, she asks, "What are Abi and Colin up to today?" Then, as an afterthought, she adds, "If you want to spend some time with them before we have to worry about the trail rides, I can do the stalls by myself this morning."

"I appreciate the offer, but you're not going to get rid of me that easily," he tells her softly, and she can see he wants to reach out to her, can see it in the way his knuckles blanch as he grips his fork a little too tightly to stop himself. "Besides, your mother's already offered to take them into town, keep them occupied for the day – she told me last night while you were finishing up with the horses," he clarifies when she looks confused. "Belle's doing a reading of Charlotte's Web at the library and your mum thought Colin might enjoy it."

"Guess I'm stuck with you then, huh?" she says wryly.

He chuckles at that. "Too right, love."

Killian looks like he wants to say something more, perhaps reiterate his promise not to leave, but her father chooses that moment to walk in and he doesn't get a chance.

"You two are up early," her father comments, eyeing her plate as he makes a beeline for the coffee pot.

Killian nods. "Aye, I'm afraid that's my fault. I was up with the sun to cook breakfast and the smell of bacon pulled this one from bed before her alarm," he says, lying to her father for her, and she feels terrible that he has to, that she's requires this of him.

"There are pancakes as well," Killian adds, "it's all keeping warm in the oven. Should be enough left for you and Mary Margaret."

"I didn't know we were paying you to cook breakfast for us," David jokes, already reaching for the oven mitts.

"You're not," Killian insists. "Consider it a thank you for allowing me to bed on the couch while my family visits."

David nods and pops a bite of pancake into his mouth. "On second thought, maybe we should be paying you to cook for us. These are the best pancakes I've ever tasted," he mumbles through another mouthful as he takes a seat at the table, reaching for the syrup.

"Maybe you should have married him instead," Mary Margaret says from the kitchen doorway.

David looks guilty as he swallows and Emma laughs as her mother walks in and smacks him gently up the side of the head before donning an oven mitt and reaching into the oven for the second plate. "Thank you for breakfast, Killian."

"You're most welcome. And while we're on the topic of my culinary skills, I was wondering if perhaps, since you'll be seeing to Abigail and Colin today, you'd allow me to cook dinner for everyone tonight?"

"As long as my kitchen is clean at the end of the day, I don't have any objections," Mary Margaret replies, joining them at the table.

Killian nods. "Yes, ma'am, I'll be sure to leave it spotless."

Emma finishes up her breakfast and then stands, gathering her empty dishes as well as Killian's. "Go get dressed," she tells him. "I'll clean this up quickly before we head out to the barn."

For once he has the good sense not to protest and actually does as she asks, finishing up the last sip of his coffee before heading into the living room.

As she quickly washes the dishes, she finds herself wishing, for what feels like the millionth time in her life, that her parents would just invest in a dishwasher already. It's not like they can't afford it, but her mother prefers to do a lot of things the old-fashioned way, and washing dishes by hand just happens to be one of them.

Grabbing an old paper coffee cup from the trash, she stuffs a couple paper towels in it before pouring in the bacon fat. It's a simple way to make an excellent fire starter and it's something they've done for as long as she can remember.

The plates, glasses, and cutlery get stacked in the elaborate drying rack and she hand-dries the frying pan and griddle before putting them away. It's good enough for now, so she hugs her mother and father and calls Duke to accompany her as she tugs on her boots and steps out the door.

It's just after 7am and she's already exhausted as she trudges out to the barn. Duke lopes along happily at her side and she sighs, trying to figure out how exactly the elderly, slightly arthritic dog has more energy than she does.

It's a simple enough answer; the dog went back to sleep instead of wandering outside at just after 4:30 in the morning. He also hasn't been experiencing the rollercoaster of emotional upheaval for the past couple hours.

It seems that even when she makes the decision to put it all from her mind, it just keeps creeping right back in.

There doesn't seem to be much she can do about it, so she resigns herself to her fate and heads into the barn to get started on mixing up grain.

Killian joins her after not too long and she worries that he's going to say something, bring it all up again, but all he does is smile warmly in greeting, grabbing buckets of grain to deliver to the anxiously waiting horses.

With the horses turned out in their fields, they start mucking, working in relative silence. At some point, when the quiet becomes too loud, between trips out to the muck heap to dump her wheelbarrow, she decides to flip on the radio, thankful for the drone of some talk show host leading a philosophical debate about life after death.

Around 9 Abigail and Colin join them in the barn to say good morning before they head into town with Mary Margaret. Abigail asks Emma if she could open the bug so that she can fetch the car seat, and Emma tries not to laugh at the shock on her face when she tells her that it's already open, that out here they don't bother locking their doors most of the time.

Colin asks where all the horses went and Killian explains that they're out in the fields for the day, that it's too nice for them to stay inside in their beds in this weather.

They boy is dead set on wanting to pet the horses and it seems no amount of gentle persuasion is going to change his mind, so Killian ends up abandoning his pitchfork in favour of leading his nephew out toward the fields for a quick visit with the ponies.

Abigail remains with her in the barn, and Emma continues to muck while they wait for the boys to return, laughing when Abi wonders out loud how many pounds of manure they shovel each week. It's a figure she surely doesn't care to know and she tells Abigail as much. It's probably the least glamorous part of her job, but it's a necessary one.

Mary Margaret joins them in the barn just as Killian returns with Colin, and before the women pack up and leave, her mother reminds her that the occupants of cabin no.4 are checking out this evening, and that new guests will be taking their place tomorrow at noon.

She'll have to take care of cleaning and restocking the cottage this evening. She knows she won't want to do it in the morning.

After her mother leaves with Colin and Abi, the rest of the day passes as usual; completing chores, tacking and un-tacking horses, leading trail rides, and she's glad it's all become routine enough that she doesn't really have to concentrate very hard. Her mind wanders to Killian more often than not (no matter how many times she stubbornly redirects it), and he watches her closely throughout the day; doesn't touch her, doesn't say anything more about the events of the morning, but he's always, always watching her.

Somehow it's both unnerving and reassuring at the same time.

Despite how frequently her mind has returned to him throughout the day, she's still no closer to any sort of grand revelation on the matter of him and her, still has no clue what she needs from him in the way of concrete reassurance, or what they are to each other and what she might eventually want them to become.

Hours of jumbled thoughts and she only knows three things for certain: that she's still terrified of having her heart broken, that she likes him (a lot), and that somehow, something happened, and now she can't possibly imagine her life without him in it.

The third thought brings her right back around to the first and realizes she's standing in a stall doorway, bucket of grain clasped in her fingers when the poor horse nudges her firmly in the shoulder, impatiently awaiting his dinner.

She dumps it into his rubber ground-feeder, patting his shoulder apologetically before shaking her head in a futile attempt to clear her thoughts and heading back to the feed-cart to fetch the next bucket.

The occupants of cabin no.4 appear in the driveway not long after that, ready to check-out, so she leaves it to Killian to finish up with the grain. The parents are flustered, their two preteen daughters fighting loudly in the back seat of the van, so she brings them into the office and speeds them through the process of retrieving keys and completing payments, informing them that the security deposit will be refunded within 48 hours provided the cabin passes inspection. They tiredly thank her for the experience and she wishes them well, sending them on their way with a jar of her mother's homemade strawberry jam, a bottle of locally produced honey, and two blueberry flavoured rock candy stick thrown in for the girls.

Killian's done with the grain by the time she files away the receipts, and though she should probably just head over to the cabin now to clean – get it over with while she waits for him to cook dinner, she's tired, and so she finds herself following him across the yard and up the steps to the house.

Her father's still outside, setting up a bonfire for later, and Duke happily helps, carrying logs over to him from the shed. She pauses on the porch to watch them, suddenly sad, a little bit bitter, and mostly just upset with herself for uprooting her life and spending five long years away from this all.

"You coming inside, love?" Killian asks and it's only then that she realizes he's been holding the door open and waiting for her.

"I'll be in soon," she tells him without turning, still leaning against the railing.

She hears his quiet grunt of acknowledgement and feels his eyes on her back for several tense seconds before the screen door finally rattles shut. She breathes out in what is supposed to be a sigh of relief, but really, it isn't, because the same tightly coiled knot of discontent, of restless agitation, still sits firmly in her breast.

Resting heavily against the weathered cedar rail, she looks out over the property. In the distance, dense cumulus clouds travel eastward on the breeze, bright white and towering against the brilliant blue sky. The sun is still bright and strong, the grass green, freshly cut and fragrant, and she's tempted to head back to the barn, grab the first horse she sees and wander aimlessly into the wilderness.

But that would be running, and she isn't going to do that.

At least not in such an obvious manner.

It eats at her though, that terrible sense of standing still when you know you should be moving forward, almost like you're vibrating on the spot as invisible threads threaten to pull you apart, and you're just grasping at the ends, trying to hold it all together, afraid that if you tug too hard on the wrong one, it will all unravel.

Groaning, she drops her head into her hands. She needs a distraction; something mindless and meaningless, something that'll get her out of her head for a while.

Heading into the house, she kicks off her boots and strides through the kitchen where Killian is humming along to the radio as he seasons the fish. He smiles at her as she passes on her way to the living room and she attempts to smile back, but she's fairly certain it comes across as more of grimace because his shoulders seem to sag a little and she's left feeling even worse than she did seconds before.

She grabs the first DVD case she touches from the shelf; season eight of Friends, and she selects a disc at random, shoving it a little too forcefully into the DVD player. She'd prefer to lie down on the couch, but the couch is currently his bed and there's no way in hell she's stretching out on that, so she grabs the remote and resigns herself to the armchair, pulling the lever and shuffling until she finds a relatively comfortable position.

Selecting "The One with Monica's Boots", she presses play and rubs at the tension headache settling into her forehead, attempting to stretch out the stiff muscles in her neck.

About five minutes in she realizes she's not really paying attention to the episode; probably because she's seen it somewhere in the neighbourhood of 101 times, and also because Killian is singing along to the radio in the kitchen, belting out the lyrics to Bryan Adams' _Heaven_, and god, she is so not okay.

She wants to damn him for the song choice, but she can't even do that; it's not his fault the ancient radio in the kitchen only picks up one station dedicated to 80's hits. It's also not his fault he was blessed with the ability to carry a tune. And though she'd like to, she can't entirely blame him for the mess of feelings gnawing at her insides as she sits curled up in the chair, frowning at the kitchen doorway.

When the song ends, she exhales in relief and tries to focus on the television once more. Her efforts are wasted though, because Madonna's _Papa Don't Preach_ comes on and he starts singing along with that and suddenly she's laughing so hard she can't see straight, the figures on the television nothing but blurry blobs of colour.

She's wiping mirthful tears from her eyes and attempting to catch her breath when he pokes his head through the doorway to grin at her stupidly. "You've a problem with my singing, love?"

All her attempts to compose herself fall apart and she just waves him away, her entire body shaking with laughter, tears streaming down her face again because god he's an idiot and even with all the shit she's feeling right now, about him, about them, he can still make her laugh so hard she can scarcely breathe.

It's just one of the many things she loves about him.

The thought sobers her quickly and she wants to stomp it down as soon as it arises, but it's too late, it's already out there, that scary little four letter word that she wants to keep tucked safely away in a box where she can pretend it doesn't exist.

Groaning, she shuts off the TV, stands, and pokes her head into the kitchen. "How long until dinner's ready?"

Killian looks up from where he's dicing avocado, knife stilling against the cutting board. "Should be about an hour," he tells her, concern evident in his features, in the way his eyebrows knit together, the lines on his forehead deepening.

There's a questioning tone to his answer and she nods toward the door. "I'm gonna go get that cabin ready for tomorrow; do it now so I don't have to worry about it later."

She needs a distraction, needs to get away from him for a while if she's going to put on a smile and a convincing act during dinner.

He nods once, succinctly, and then returns to chopping the fruit.

His apparent dismissal stings; she'd expected him to at least mutter some form of acknowledgement, perhaps urge her to hurry back, but he doesn't, and she can't blame him. He's far from stupid; she's running and he's letting her, and as she grabs her keys from the hook, steps into her shoes, and heads out the door, she can't help but think that what she feels is far from the relief she's been searching for.

The next 45 minutes are spent changing bedclothes and restocking supplies. She dusts, cleans the bathroom and kitchen, and makes a quick run through with the vacuum. It's probably the fastest she's ever managed to prep a cottage and by the time she's tossing the heap of dirty linens into the trunk of the bug, she's exhausted, sufficiently distracted, and her stomach is growling loudly enough to rival the rumble of the car's engine.

Many of the guests are outside, cooking or eating dinner, so she smiles at them as she gets into the car and makes her way back to the farm.

Her mother arrives home with Abigail and Colin just as she's gathering the laundry from the car to bring into the house and she waves to them, balancing the load awkwardly on her hip. The picnic table is already set for dinner and Killian stands at the barbeque, shuffling fish on the grill while he laughs with her father.

She catches a whiff of the barbequed tilapia and her stomach growls again, so she rushes into the house to deal with the laundry, shoving it hastily into the machine with detergent and fabric softener, setting the dial for the two hour sanitize cycle before heading back outside.

Colin comes running to greet her, ploughing into her legs, and she scoops him up, tickling him as he screeches and squirms until he's red in the face with laughter and her face hurts from smiling.

Whatever she and Killian are, and whatever they might become, he's still her friend and his family is obviously important to him. She doesn't want to let her feelings get in the way of enjoying a beautiful Sunday evening with them.

She sets Colin down when she joins the group by the picnic table and immediately he grabs her hand and pulls her over to a brightly coloured kid-sized basketball net. Dropping her hand, he picks up the ball and begins tossing it in the general direction of the net, not even remotely discouraged when it misses time and time again.

Emma's not the slightest bit surprised that they came home with a new toy and she gives her mother a knowing look before sitting down in the grass and beginning what amounts to a hilarious game of fetch with the young boy.

It's thankfully only a few minutes until Killian announces that supper is ready and she herds Colin back toward the table so that Abigail can pick him up and settle him into the booster seat strapped to the bench.

She's not surprised when she ends up seated next to Killian at the picnic table; it's the logical placement so she'd been expecting it. She's a big girl; she can deal with the fact that his arm brushes against hers every so often as he eats. She can deal with how, beneath the scents of summer and horse and barbeque, he still smells like the body wash that's taken up temporary residence in her shower. She can deal with those things, but what she has trouble dealing with is the way he looks at her when no one else is watching.

So she focuses her attention on eating, asking Abigail what they did today. She's also sure to bring up topics of conversation that she knows will have her mother nattering on endlessly so that all she has to do is sit there and listen.

The food is good, really good actually, and as she bites into her second taco shell filled with lime and pepper flavoured whitefish, topped with some sort of elaborate salsa containing avocado, tomato, mango, corn, and black beans, she has to admit that she's seriously impressed by his culinary talents.

She's starting to wonder if there's anything Killian _isn't_ good at, but that leads her mind down a dangerous and rather inappropriate path, so she looks up from her food, politely compliments him on the meal, and asks him where he learned to cook.

His face falls almost instantly and he looks at Abigail who smiles sadly and shakes her head.

God, she wishes she could take the words back, reverse 20 seconds and shut her stupid mouth, because she's the biggest idiot ever and of course Liam was the one to teach Killian to cook and she doesn't know what the protocol is in this kind of situation, but she's pretty sure it's frowned upon to bring up a toddler's dead father over dinner.

She bows her head in embarrassment, cringing when Killian spouts an obvious lie about learning during a high school cooking class. She wants to apologise to both of them for her foolish blunder, but she doesn't know how to do that without drawing even more attention to an already tense situation, so she just stares at her plate and vows to remain silent for the rest of the meal.

She'd been so worried about someone picking up on the romantic tension between her and Killian that she'd gone and replaced it with something even worse. She wants to bang her head against the table, or maybe just excuse herself from the meal, because clearly she's not fit to be around human company, but she's already come off as, at best: incredibly thick-headed, and at worst: downright rude, so she stays exactly where she is and focuses on smiling and nodding when appropriate, choking down food that she no longer has any appetite for.

When everyone has finished eating, she rises to gather dishes, insisting that Killian spend time with Abigail and Colin while she does the cleaning. He hardly protests, accepting her offer easily enough and she worries now more than ever that she's gone and royally fucked things up.

Everyone relocates to the fire pit and it takes her a few trips to bring all the dishes back into the house, but she does so without complaint, grateful for the chance to escape.

The laundry gets switched over to the dryer and she takes her time washing and drying the dishes, cleaning the kitchen more thoroughly than she ever has in her entire life. After that, when she finds herself contemplating the idea of emptying the fridge and wiping down each individual shelf, she tells herself enough is enough; she can't hide out in here forever.

A load of clothes tossed into the washer, followed by a timer set on her phone, provide an escape plan should she deem it necessary, and then she's grabbing marshmallows from the pantry and heading out to where the fire burns bright against the backdrop of the sinking sun, hating herself for her apparent inability to get her shit together enough to enjoy such a lovely evening.

She takes the empty spot next to Killian, the picture of normality as she reaches for a stick and skewers a marshmallow on its pointy end.

Conversation remains light, humorous stories of life on the ranch and Emma even manages to laugh when her father shares old tales that she's heard a hundred times before. Her alarm goes off, phone vibrating silently in her pocket and she dismisses it, content for the moment to remain where she is.

Colin winds up climbing back and forth between her lap and Killian's, and eventually, sometime after the sun finally sets, he passes out in a heap, sprawled across both of their laps, his head pillowed against her thigh, tiny feet tucked up against Killian's hip.

It stirs a longing in her chest that she stubbornly attempts to ignore, and she tries not to feel the loss when Killian stands and smiles softly at her before gently removing the sleeping boy from her lap. Abigail joins him and they head across the darkened property to the apartment.

She stays by the fire for a few more minutes, enjoying quiet banter between her parents before she stands and stretches, making her way over to the barn to do night check.

As she throws hay and tops up water buckets, she half expects Killian to show up to help, but by the time she's finishing up and flicking off the lights in the barn, he's still nowhere to be seen. The lights in the apartment remain on, two shadowy outlines visible through the sheer curtains, and she figures he's taking the time to catch up with Abigail.

_That's good_, she thinks. _He deserves it._

It may even afford her enough time to shower and sneak off to bed without having to face him.

Heading toward the house, all that remains of the bonfire is a small column of smoke drifting up into the starlit sky. It seems her parents have already packed it in for the night, and when she tugs open the screen door, the silence that greets her confirms it.

Duke is asleep on the pull-out bed in the living room and she rolls her eyes as she leans over to pet him, already imagining how jealous he's going to be when Killian finally brings home Avast in a month or so.

She switches the laundry and quickly folds the sheets and towels from the dryer, knowing that if she leaves them in the basket until morning, they'll be wrinkled beyond belief and she'll end up having to rewash them. If it were her own linens she wouldn't care, but they're running a business and even a rental cabin in the middle of nowhere ought to look presentable.

For a moment she toys with the idea of not showering, of just crawling into bed, but her hair is grungy and tangled, and beneath the scent of campfire and bug spray, she's knows she stinks of sweat and manure, so she make it a quick one and skips her usual lengthy loiter beneath the warm spray.

She's yawning as she brushes her teeth, and her arms feel like lead weights as she twists her damp hair into a braid, but somehow, when she finally settles down beneath her blankets, she's still wide awake. Tossing and turning in the dark for several long minutes only frustrates her further, so she gives up and leans over to switch on the lamp, grabbing a book.

She's a few chapters in, caught up in an already twisting plot when there's a soft knock on her door. "Yeah? Come in," she says quietly.

The door opens slowly and Killian pokes his head though. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

She shakes her head and he steps into the room, pyjamas and a towel draped over his arm. "Mind if I use the shower quickly, love?"

"Go ahead," she tells him, picking up her book and starting again at the top of the page, unable to remember exactly where she left off.

He hesitates for a moment just inside the door and she glances up over the edge of her book. He looks like he wants to say something, but when she stubbornly returns her eyes to the page, he sighs and moves through the room to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The fan hums, a dull drone, and the pipes groan as the shower starts up.

She tries to read, attempts to be as entertained by the story as she was moments ago, but she can't focus and just ends up starting at the bathroom door while he showers, cursing the knowledge that he's wet and naked in there, that the only things standing between them are a door with a flimsy lock and a striped shower curtain.

There's also the fact that she still feels like a colossal idiot for her blunder at dinner.

She should apologise when he finishes in the shower; two simple words – _I'm sorry_ – it shouldn't be this hard, but she's tired and she's afraid that if she starts talking right now, opens herself up just a little bit, she might not be able to stop, and she's not quite ready to acknowledge everything she was feeling this morning – everything she's _still_ feeling if she's being honest.

So she closes her book, turns off the lamp, and when Killian emerges from the bathroom, she pretends to be asleep.

And she feels like an ass for it.

He opens the bathroom door, her name is on his lips in a quiet question, quickly followed by a crestfallen exhalation when he realizes that she's asleep (or pretending to be anyway). She thinks that maybe that will be it, that he'll leave the room and she'll be able to return to her tossing and turning, her quiet, lonely hell, but he doesn't leave, just shuffles across the room and stands at the foot of her bed.

Keeping her eyes closed and her breath even is nearly impossible when she can sense him standing there, smell the spice of his body wash, but somehow she manages, silently counting the seconds, waiting, because surely he doesn't mean to stand here all night.

77 long seconds later he finally moves, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet as he steps toward the door. He pauses there yet again, hesitating and she contemplates giving up the entire charade because frustration is setting in and she's not sure how much longer she can keep this up, but then the door is opening and light from the hallway floods in, bright against her closed eyelids.

His voice shocks her when it comes, "I know you're not actually sleeping, love." He sighs, sounding tired, but still she doesn't break the facade. "But that's all right, I'll give you your space – obviously you want it." He pauses again. "I'm still here though, Emma. You'll not push me away that easily. I'm not sure how many times I'll have to say it; that I'm not leaving, that I won't let you down, but I'll bloody well keep on with it for as long as it takes for you to believe me."

He lingers for a second longer and then closes the door softy behind him with a whispered "Goodnight."

As the sound of his footsteps fade down the hall, she flops over onto her stomach and presses her face into her pillow, wanting to scream. She doesn't though, that would be childish and inadvisable because she knows that muffled or not, he would hear it. Instead she settles for punching the pillow several times before rolling back over onto her side.

Damn him. Damn him and his unfailing ability to see right through her, to call her out on her bullshit, for being so infuriatingly stubborn and somehow so unbelievably patient at the same time, because it all makes her love him just that much more and she doesn't want to love him, because loving him is terrifying, and god... she can't believe she's even using _that_ word.

She ruminates, spends hours tossing and turning, chasing the thought in endless circles around her brain until eventually, sometime in the wee hours of the night, exhaustion finally pulls her into a fitful slumber.

* * *

Morning comes and she wakes to her alarm, set intentionally early, hoping to rise with enough time to beat Killian into the kitchen. She's groggy and irritable and filled with flashes of dreams she can hardy remember, dreams that leave her confused and wanting more, but she pushes through the fog, gets dressed and makes it into the kitchen while Killian still sleeps, snuggled up with Duke on the pull-out couch.

She tries not to think about how much she'd like to take the sleeping dog's place.

She doesn't make an elaborate breakfast, just fills a coffee mug to the brim and heads out the door with a banana and a protein bar. It's a bit earlier than they usually feed, but the horses certainly aren't going to complain if her dodgy avoidance tactics bring them breakfast half an hour sooner.

By the time Killian arrives in the barn she's already started to turn out the horses, and before grabbing a lead rope and getting to work, he just gives her this look; a sad, disappointed half smile that somehow comes across as understanding.

And that seems to be how the day goes. They don't talk, not really, not unless it's to communicate a plan for tacking up horses or leading a trail ride.

It's tense and awkward and she hates it, but she knows that it's entirely her fault.

Dinner time approaches and she overhears Killian talking on the phone; the tire for the jeep is in and Gus will swap it at no additional cost if Killian stops by before 7. He agrees and in the end he makes plans to take Colin and Abigail into town for dinner.

Her parents have already gone into town for some city council meeting, so that leaves her alone on the farm with nothing but the animals and her thoughts for company. She contemplates calling up Belle and Ruby, but quickly decides against it, knowing that while she might be able to hide her sour mood from Ruby, Belle would certainly pick up on it and she really doesn't feel like being asked questions that she doesn't have answers to.

She ends up popping a mixture of leftovers from the weekend into the microwave and taking her dinner out to the lawn, where she eats, seated in the grass with Duke at her feet and a tree trunk at her back. It should be peaceful with the evening sun ducking beneath the leafy branches of the maple to warm her skin, but it's not. She's restless, unsettled, because there's something missing, and she's not an idiot, she knows what it is.

If she were to pick one single word to describe how she's feeling right now, she'd have to go with miserable, because that comes pretty damn close to it.

Withdrawing, pushing him away, running, avoiding, whatever it is she's been doing clearly isn't working because he's everywhere, all the time. They work together and tomorrow they'll be taking guests up to the tepees, and this pathetic attempt to act normal is just a disaster because she doesn't even know what normal is supposed to be between them anymore, and whatever _this_ is, it's certainly not normal.

What it is, is exhausting.

She's tired of putting up this front, of pretending and avoiding, because it's been less than two days and already she misses him. She hates how sad he seems every time he looks at her, because as much as she doesn't want to admit it, she knows that every moment she spends hiding away in an attempt to protect her heart, she's hurting him, and it's not kind and it's not fair, and she's sure doing a lousy job of protecting her heart because with every awkward silence and lingering glance, she feels it ache just a little bit more.

Because at this point she's either all in or all out; she can't keep doing this, this hovering hesitation at the precipice of some metaphorical doorway.

It's not fair to either of them.

And somehow when she views it that way, the thought of never seeing him again, never talking to him or kissing him or hugging him is much more terrifying than the possibility of her heart being broken.

It's time to put on a brave face and take a step forward, to finally start believing that he's the amazing guy she knows him to be. She needs to trust him; trust that he won't break her heart, and she needs to trust herself; trust that whatever the future holds, she's strong enough to get through it.

So she vows that tomorrow when they're up at the tepees, as soon as they have some alone time, she will apologise for running and pushing him away and just being an idiot in general, because he deserves so much better than how she's been treating him the last couple days.

Having made up her mind on that matter, she feels much better than she did only moments before. It's tempting to grab a horse from the barn and head out for a short trail ride, but she's been going all day on maybe 3 hours of sleep and she's running low on energy and motivation so she contents herself with lounging next to Duke in the grass.

She rubs his belly and watches distant clouds drift across the evening sky until she starts to nod off, her eyes closing, and her skull making sharp contact with the tree bark at her back. She's fairly certain that if she sits here much longer she'll fall asleep and the mosquitoes will likely bleed her dry, so she rises, gathers her dishes, and heads into the house.

It's still too early to do night check, but she's dead on her feet, doesn't think she'll be awake that long, so she grabs her cell phone from her dresser and forces herself to stand upright, afraid that if she lies down on the bed she'll be asleep instantly.

She has Killian's number, has had it since her first week back home, it just made sense, one of those '_in case of emergency_' or '_work-related'_ things. They don't text often and usually when they do it's him reminding her late at night that they need to be up early for sunrise trail ride or that the farrier is scheduled to arrive at the brink of dawn. Other times it's her asking if he could grab more fly spray or an extra jug of flaxseed oil while he's in town.

Tonight it's work related (for the most part), but as she thumbs out the message on the touch screen, she's fairly certain she's never sent him a text this long before... or this rambling. She's too tired to care though and she hits send without the slightest attempt a proofreading.

**_\- Hey. I slept like crap last night and I'm falling asleep standing up and there's no way in hell I'm going to be conscious at 9:30 for night check so if it's not too much trouble would you mind taking care of it without me tonight? Pretty please? I'll make it up to you tomorrow. And if you want to shower before bed, go ahead, no need to knock, I probably won't even hear you. Seriously, I'm already half asleep, be impressed if this doesn't have a billion typos. Thanks Killian. X -_**

She checks that her alarm is set and tosses the phone on the bed before heading to the bathroom to make a half-assed attempt at brushing her teeth. She draws her curtains against the still shining sun and flops into bed, burrowing into a nest of blankets and pillows, groaning when her phone chimes loudly and she's forced to fumble around in the dark in search of it.

She finally finds it kicked down by her feet and tries to focus her blurry eyes enough to enter her pass code and read the reply from Killian.

_**\- No trouble at all. And mark me down as impressed, only typo in sight is that random 'X' at the end... Sleep well, love. - **_

Even in her exhausted state she appreciates that he's giving her an out, and perhaps that's why she doesn't take it.

_**\- Not a typo. -**_ She manages to tap out before her eyes close and the phone falls from her limp grasp to the bed.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I just want to thank everyone who has reviewed lately. You are all amazing and I wish I had the time to respond to each and every one of you individually, but I've just been so busy these last few weeks. And thank you all for being patient with me while life gets in the way. :)

* * *

Wednesday morning she wakes nearly half an hour before her alarm, incredibly well rested after a solid 10 hours of sleep.

The sun is just creeping in around the edges of her curtains and she reaches for her phone to cancel the alarm. The little text messaging icon flashes on the screen and she opens it up, smiling when she sees that Killian's last reply was a simple _**-X.-**_

She meant it when she said she was going to make it up to him, and she's not just talking about the fact that he did night check alone yesterday. She's been difficult lately and she knows it, so after she showers and gets dressed, she pads quietly down the hall, passed the couch where Killian still sleeps, and into the kitchen.

She's going to make him breakfast.

She's not a chef by any means and she's the first to admit that she's terrible at anything complicated in the kitchen, but she's always made an excellent batch of scrambled eggs, so she pulls the frying pan from the cupboard and the necessary ingredients from the fridge as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him just yet.

The large pan gets placed on the stove to preheat with a generous dollop of butter that slowly melts in the center while she chops up red onion and grates cheddar cheese. Those get added to the mixing bowl with a can of flaked ham and she cracks enough eggs to ensure there are leftovers for her parents. She adds milk and whisks it all together until it's filled with frothy air bubbles.

Killian's alarm goes off just as she's adding the mixture to the frying pan and mere seconds after that, the coffee maker beeps loudly, the last sputter of percolating coffee passing through the filter and into the pot.

While she waits for the eggs to solidify slightly she pours the steaming coffee into mugs and mixes in the appropriate sweeteners, sitting Killian's at the table and leaving hers on the counter within easy reach. Two 12-grain bagels are sliced and dropped into the toaster and she returns to the stove just as Killian wanders into the kitchen.

He looks a little bit confused and she points at the coffee on the table with the end of her spatula. "Have a seat. Your coffee is there. Breakfast'll be ready in a couple minutes."

Shaking his head with a small smile, he does as instructed, stretching his arms behind his head and yawning after he settles in the chair. He's dressed, but he clearly hasn't made any attempt at combing his hair because the ends stick up at awful angles and he looks like he's been wrestling with a grizzly bear cub.

She abandons the eggs for a moment to push the levers down on the toaster and grab the cream cheese and orange juice from the fridge.

"How'd you sleep?" Killian asks after a tentative sip of still steaming coffee.

"Good. Better than I have in days," she tells him truthfully as she returns to the stove to finish up the eggs. "How was dinner with Abi and Colin last night?"

He tells her all about it; that they went to this little Italian restaurant he didn't even know existed – he thought Granny's was the only eating establishment in town until Ashley suggested it while Gus was putting the new tire on the jeep. Colin had spaghetti, made an absolute mess and afterwards they wrestled him into a clean shirt before stopping by Ashley's to play with Avast, which was probably a mistake because now Colin wants a puppy.

Emma laughs at that as she sits his plate in front of him and reaches out to tame his hair, running her fingers through the dark locks in an attempt to flatten them slightly. It doesn't really help at all and he tilts his head back to give her a strange look wrapped up in a small smile.

She allows her fingers to linger in his hair for a second longer, fighting the sudden urge to bend and kiss him by returning to the counter to retrieve her own plate and coffee mug.

He's still watching her when she joins him at the table and she's tempted to talk to him right now, clear the air and get everything out in the open, but she can hear her parents stirring down the hall and she would really prefer not to rush this.

Instead she brings up the impending trip to the tepees. She feels bad that he'll be missing out on an evening spent with Colin and Abi, but he hasn't made any attempts to work around it or ask her father to go in his place, so she figures that he's accepted it.

The guests they're taking up to the tepees this afternoon are a group of four 20 year old frat boys; big talking, wife-beater wearing, misogynistic Neanderthals who seem to enjoy throwing every trashy pick-up line in the book at her.

While she doubts they'd ever do more than talk, she's not ashamed to admit that she's glad she'll have Killian and a loaded shotgun for company.

Killian is less than impressed with them too, but they're paying customers and unfortunately the reality of running a business is that you wind up dealing with all sort of people. There are the fabulous ones that you hope become regulars, those you would gladly serve every day for the rest of your life, and then there are others, the ones that leave you wanting to bash your head into a wall as you silently curse them to hell and back again several times over.

Killian's complaining about how they have more muscle than brains and Emma's sharing their latest disgusting pick-up line when her mother pokes her head into the kitchen, eyeing the covered frying pan on the stove.

"You better not have made us breakfast again, Killian," Mary Margaret admonishes.

Killian shakes his head and nods at Emma. "It was all her."

Lifting the lid, Mary Margaret sniffs the scrambled eggs. "Smells good, but are they edible?"

"Hey!" Emma protests loudly, taking offense. "I'm not _that_ bad at cooking!"

"Tell that to the microwave you set on fire," her father says as he enters the kitchen.

Killian nearly spits out his coffee. "How the bloody hell did you manage that?"

"Oh for the love of- you guys are never gonna let that go are you?" she asks her parents, rolling her eyes. "I was drunk and put popcorn in the microwave, but instead of 3 minutes I put 30 and then I forgot about it. Fire happened and I've been labeled a disaster in the kitchen ever since."

They all have a good laugh at her expense and she pretends to be hurt by it, standing and making as if she's about to dump the pan into Duke's bowl. "Fine, I'll just feed the rest of these to Duke if you're that afraid to eat them," she threatens.

"Oh come on, don't do that," her mother says.

"You'll send the poor dog to an early grave," he father adds.

Shaking her head she sets the pan back on the stove. "You guys are the worst parents ever," she tells them.

Killian chuckles and takes another bite of the eggs.

"See? Killian likes them and they haven't killed him."

"Yet," Killian points out and she groans, flinging an oven mitt at him.

In the end her parents end up eating the eggs and when her father pretends to choke and die for the third time, she decides to leave the dishes for him to deal with and heads outside to get started in the barn.

Killian follows her out the door seconds later and when she realizes, she stops and waits for him to catch up. He's still regarding her with this slightly wondrous look, as if he can't quite believe the sudden change in her demeanor. He seems content to follow her lead though, pleased by the return of their playful banter.

"Your cooking isn't nearly as abysmal as your parent's make it out to be," he tells her, biting back a smile.

She elbows him in the ribs. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

He nods. "Thank you for breakfast, Emma. It was delicious."

She grins at him and together they head into the barn to get started on the morning's chores.

They joke while they work, coming up with names for the four guests whose company they are both dreading. Chin Strap, Hair Gel, and Fake Tan are relatively easy to name, but the final member of what Killian snidely refers to as the 'Fatuous Four' is such a classic douche bag that they simply decide to dub him Obvious Overcompensation.

After an early lunch they put together the supplies for the trip to the tepees, packing their own bags and ensuring that all necessary food is ready to be tucked away in the saddle bags. The trips to the tepees generally don't happen much more than once a week, but they've fallen into a well established routine of preparing for them and it doesn't take too long to have the horses tacked up and everything ready to go.

By 1 o'clock they're all mounted and on the trail heading up to the tepees, and despite the less than desirable company lagging along closely behind her, she's in an excellent mood. It's the perfect summer day; the sun is hot, almost sweltering, but there's a cool mountain breeze weaving its way through the trees and tall grass, keeping the bugs and sweat at bay.

Killian leads the way and she allows her mind to wander between occasional glances over her shoulder to ensure that none of the 'Fatuous Four' have fallen too far behind. She doesn't have to worry though; the horses know their job and automatically follow the leader without much in the way of guidance.

Throughout the morning, while mucking stalls and laughing with Killian, she'd given a fair amount of thought to sleeping arrangements and she's made up her mind that by the time the day ends and they retire to the tepee, she'll have set things right with him and will hopefully be spending the night in his arms.

It's a pleasant thought that's quite rudely interrupted when Chin Strap rides up next to her and asks, "Do you like horse racing?"

"It has its pros and cons, why?" she replies, attempting to force a polite smile to her lips.

"Because I may be a long shot, but with you as my trainer I think I could come from behind."

It's a terrible pickup line, loaded with innuendo and she scoffs in disgust. She refuses to even dignify that with answer and nudges her horse forward several strides to put some distance between them.

Over the course of the next couple hours, Hair Gel tries out the not even remotely creative, "Girl, I'm hung like a horse." Followed by Fake Tan imploring that, "If I were a horse, I'd rather you mounted me without the saddle."

Chin Strap steps up to the plate again and informs her that "I'm like a bucking bronco, ride me and I'll get you off in 8 seconds." And when they start joking about leather and whips, she has to wonder just how much time they spent researching awful horse-themed pickup lines.

Killian remains quiet the entire time, jaw clenched, that one little muscle ticking away in irritation and she's certain he would like nothing more than to break each and every one of their noses (she would gladly help him), but neither of them are stupid enough to punch the living daylights out of paying customers.

"Hey Emma, that horse is looking pretty tired, how 'bout you give him a break and ride a cowboy instead?" Obvious Overcompensation suggests, looking her up and down in a glance that has her gritting her teeth.

It's the straw that breaks the proverbial camel's back and she spins her horse to face him, smiling sweetly. "You know, that sounds mighty tempting," she tells him, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

He looks cocky as his friends guffaw loudly behind him.

"Problem is, there's only one cowboy here and he's my co-worker. You don't think my parents would mind if I fucked the help, do you?"

That seems to knock the idiots down a peg or two.

Obvious Overcompensation just opens and closes his mouth several times, clearly speechless, and his friends make fun of him for a moment before they clue into the fact that she just quite clearly rebuffed them too.

Killian laughs quietly as she turns and trots her horse forward to join him. He grins broadly at her, pride and admiration evident on his face.

The rest of the ride up to the tepees is mostly silent and the guys thankfully make no further attempts to harass her as she rides alongside Killian. When they make it to the clearing, Killian directs the 'Fatuous Four' toward the largest tepee with their bags and bed rolls and informs them that that's where they'll be sleeping.

They make quick work of un-tacking the horses and filling the water trough before stowing the saddles and bridles away in the empty shelter.

When they throw their packs into their usual tepee, she doesn't bother setting up her bedroll just yet. She wants to snuggle up next to him tonight, wrap herself in his arms and his warmth, but she needs to talk to him first, so she leaves everything piled just inside the doorway to deal with later.

Killian gets a fire started while she gathers and preps the drinking water and it's not long until they have dinner started. It's part of trips up to the tepees; cooking for the guests. It's much easier to take care of it themselves than to leave it up to the clients. Years ago her parent's tried doing it the other way, but despite explicitly stating numerous times that there is no power or electricity or refrigeration whatsoever up here, people would still insist upon bringing milk for cereal or eggs for breakfast.

So now they simply include dinner, breakfast, and occasionally lunch as part of the package.

Dinner is often the most substantial meal; they've taken to bringing frozen steak so that by the time they arrive, they're thawed just enough to grill and cook for dinner. Potatoes and corn on the cob wrapped ahead of time in foil are also relatively simple options. Breakfast often consists of muffins or oatmeal, and lunch is usually something that comes out of a can. It's not exactly elegant, but they make do with anything non-perishable and easy to transport.

The meal is eagerly devoured and afterwards, while the guests loiter around the fire, Killian chops more firewood and she brushes the horses, picking out their hooves and pulling burs from their manes and tails. The sun sets quickly and when the mosquitoes get so bad that she can no longer ignore them, she retreats to the tepee to fetch a sweater and the bug spray.

Killian ducks into the shelter just as she's popping her head through the hole of her pullover, and he digs around in his bag, producing his own sweater.

"Get the firewood restocked?" she asks as she gives the can of bug spray a good shake and moves back toward the opening of the tepee.

Killian nods and tugs his sweater over his head, remerging with his hair sticking up in all directions. "Should be enough in there now that we don't have to worry about it for several trips."

"That's good." She steps back outside and holds the flap open for him. "I mean it's not that I don't enjoy watching you chop firewood, but it'll be nice to have one less thing to do next time we're up here."

He gives her a funny look as he steps through the opening of the tepee. The raised eyebrow and the lines on his forehead speak of confusion, but he's also got this happy little smile tugging at the corners of his lips and she just smiles back, dousing herself in bug spray before handing him the can.

"Let's go sit by the horses," she suggests. "I don't think we're welcome over there." It would be nice to sit by the warmth of the fire, but the guests have no real interest in hanging out with her after she so effectively snubbed all of their advances, and they want absolutely nothing to do with Killian, regarding him with disdain and poorly disguised jealously every time she laughs at something he says or reaches out to touch his arm.

She doesn't particularly desire their company either, so she wanders over toward the corral, knowing that Killian will follow without hesitation.

Settling down in the lush grass she laughs as one of the geldings wanders over and snuffles at her hair through a gap in the fence. Killian hunkers down next to her and after several minutes of the horse thinking that the grass must certainly be greener on the other side of the fence, he wanders off to rejoin the herd.

The sky is still that stunning shade of not quite dark, inky blue against the shadowy silhouettes of the surrounding forest and mountains. Bats zip and dart around the twilit sky, picking off mosquitoes in an amazing show of agility that has her wondering how it's possible for so many people to fear the fascinating little mammals. Fireflies dance among the trees, little flashes of pale green bioluminescence, and the smoke from the blazing fire swirls upwards, twisting on a warm south westerly breeze.

They sit in silence for a while as night infiltrates the mountains and the stars emerge, a spectacular dusting of blue-gold glitter across the cloudless sky. He breathes in, she breathes out, and she's pretty damn sure she hasn't been this content in a long time.

She hasn't had a chance to talk to him yet; she's been waiting and hoping that the guests might abandon the fire soon and retreat to their tepee for the night. She's been waiting for them to stop their hooting and hollering, waiting for peace and quiet, but they're young and rowdy and they seem to have brought along a ridiculous amount of vodka, so she suspects it will likely be a while before that happens.

She's tired of waiting though, tired of still holding herself at a distance. She's been hinting at her willingness to move forward all day, been fairly obvious about the fact that she's done running, and Killian has been watching her closely, knowingly, this hopeful little smile plastered on his lips since she made him breakfast that morning, but now she wants to see that smile grow, blossom and bloom into a full blown grin, so she grabs his arm and lifts it as she scoots closer and tucks herself into his side.

He exhales when she loops an arm over his stomach, breathes her name out into her hair, questioning as his arm tightens around her instinctively, holding her close.

She's not quite sure how to start. She's run the words through her mind countless times throughout the day, but now that it's actually time to speak them aloud, any semblance of eloquence seems to have abandoned her.

"I think I'm done running," she says quietly, looking out over the moonlit river.

He remains silent, patiently waiting for her to continue.

"I can't guarantee that I won't freak out or do something stupid in the future, but if there's one thing I've realized in the last few days, it's that avoiding you makes us both miserable, and I don't know about you, but I'm tired of being miserable."

He laughs quietly at that and presses his lips to her hair. "As am I, love."

She turns her face into his chest and nuzzles against the soft cotton of his shirt, inhaling deeply, trying to collect her thoughts because there are so many things she wants to say to him and she really should have planned this out better, maybe scribbled it all down on a piece of paper because she's fairly certain that she's going to forget something important or that she's not going to make any sense at all.

"I'm really bad at all this talking stuff," she tells him. "Not much better at the relationship stuff either. I know I want to move forward with this, but what exactly is forward? Where do we go from here? Are there labels, steps, goals? I don't even know what I'm excepting from this, from us, whatever we are. And I don't know what you're expecting, all I know is I really like you and I'm terrified of losing you and I don't want to fuck this up, so please don't let me fuck this up..." She stops when she realizes that she's rambling, that her voice is close to breaking.

Killian shifts her slightly in his arms, enough that he can tilt her chin up to catch her eyes. "Provided you don't run somewhere I can't follow, believe me when I say that you'll have a very hard time fucking this up, love. If I haven't made myself clear enough thus far, allow me to do so now," he says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm in this for the long haul, Emma. I want you, I want..." he pauses, seeming to consider his words, "forgive me if this is too much, too soon, but I want a life with you, Emma. Whatever that entails, I'll be happy so long as you're with me. So whatever obstacles we come across, even ones of your own making, I'll be right there with you for as long as you'll have me, okay?"

She blinks slowly, processing his words and studying his face because god, he's serious and it should all scare her a hell of a lot more than it does.

"Okay," she finally agrees, nodding her head.

And he smiles.

"As for what comes next, I doubt there's some sort of universal guidebook to follow, so I maintain that we simply do what comes naturally. Though I should very much like to take you out on a date sometime soon, if you're open to that?" he asks nervously.

She almost laughs because the man just more or less declared his desire to build a life with her, yet he's worried about asking her out on a date.

"What? Like dinner and a movie?" The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

Killian chuckles. "I was thinking that perhaps we'd do something a little less clichéd." He pauses and his hand makes its way up to scratch behind his ear. "Is that a yes?"

She smiles and grabs his hand, bringing it back down to twist with hers over his stomach, delighting in the way the firm muscles tense beneath her palm. "Yes, Killian, I'll go out on a date with you."

The grin that spreads across his lips is the one that she's been wanting to see all day; slightly wolfish, but mostly just downright giddy and she can't help but giggle as she smiles stupidly back at him.

She wants to kiss him, badly, but before she can do that there's one more thing she needs to get off her chest.

"I'm sorry about dinner the other night; I should have realized that Liam was the one who taught you to cook. Sometimes I'm an idiot and I don't think before I speak and I'm just really sorry and I promise that I'll apologise to Abi as soon as we get back tomorrow because I – oh-" She doesn't get to finish because suddenly he's kissing her and she thinks that maybe she should babble on more often if this is how he plans to shut her up; all demanding lips, slanting, hot and hungry, his hand gentle in her hair and his chest firm beneath her touch.

How exactly did she manage to deprive herself of this for two whole days?

She doesn't give it much thought because he's still kissing her, slower now, sweetly and she'd rather focus on the way he inhales a little more forcefully when she trails her fingers down over soft cotton to rest just above his belt buckle. She doesn't let her hand wander any further, content to simply sit here with him a while longer, sharing small smiles between kisses, wrapped up in the solid warmth of him.

She's not sure how long they've been sitting here in the grass, snuggled together, kissing beneath the starry night sky, but when she notices how quiet it's gotten, she pulls back and looks over to the fire. The guests have abandoned it in favour of their tepee, and while the warm glow of a lantern tells her that they're most certainly still awake (and likely still drinking), they're making significantly less noise now.

"Shall we sit by the fire until it dies down?" Killian asks, combing his fingers through her hair as he presses his nose to her temple and speaks quietly against her ear. He can't seem to stop touching her and she can't say that she minds. She hasn't exactly taken her hands off of him either.

Standing, she offers her hand to pull him up and directly into a hug, standing on her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck because she just needs this, needs the contact and the reassurance and solid, steady heat of him, because he's amazing and she's pretty fucking sure she loves him even though she has no plans to speak those words out loud any time soon. But this is allowed, he's hers and she can reach out for this if she wants to, so she does.

He grunts at the contact and loops his arms tightly around her waist as she presses herself against him, resting her chin on his shoulder. He buries his face in her hair, lips dragging against her neck in several long, slow brushes that send a shudder coursing all the way down to her toes and she's pretty sure arousal wasn't his intention, but that doesn't stop the longing that tugs at her fingertips, the clench of her thighs and the tilt of her hips as she presses herself more fully into him and tugs at his hair so she can kiss him again.

Electricity crackles, urgent, magnetic, desperate, explosive potential simmering just below the surface and fuck, she wants nothing more than to push him all the way back to the tepee, strip him bare and have her way with him...

In the end it's him that forces her to take a step back, breathing heavily with his hands still tight on her hips, fingers biting into the flesh where he's pushed her sweater up slightly, night air cool against her feverish skin. "Bloody hell, Emma," he exhales, shaking his head, eyes clenched shut for a moment before he opens them again and looks up at her. "You're not going to make this easy on me, are you, love?"

She just blinks up at him innocently, and tries not to laugh as she bites her lip and says, "Sorry."

"I want you, darling. I should think that's fairly obvious."

She glances down at the front of his jeans and even in the dark, the truth of that statement is unmistakable.

_Fuck. _

She forces her gaze back up to his face and makes a conscious effort to relax the death grip she still holds on his sweater.

"I want you, but I'll be damned if I don't at least take you out on a few dates before I have you," he insists, releasing his grasp on her hips and tugging her shirt back into place, smoothing the fabric down. "Besides, I don't particularly fancy the idea of those idiots listening in," he nods toward the occupied tepee, "and unless you got creative in your packing, it's not as if I can simply run to the store for condoms."

She laughs at that, pouting a little bit because god, she knows they should wait, that they pretty much_ have _to wait, but she really doesn't want to. Her palms are flat against his chest, still touching him, because like him, she can't seem to stop and maybe she actually enjoys torturing them both just a little bit. She certainly enjoys the way he's tilting his head and clenching his jaw, watching her while looking like he's about ready to pounce.

"Let's go sit down," she says, repeating his earlier suggestion. She nods toward the still burning fire and takes his hand to pull him along.

He settles down on the log and she tucks herself against his side, smiling, watching the fire as he twines their fingers together and lifts her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

After several minutes of watching the flames dance over charred wood and lambent embers, wispy smoke rising upwards to an infinite ceiling, she closes her eyes and rests her head against his shoulder, yawning as the scents and sounds of camping draw her closer and closer to slumber. She drifts in and out, lulled by his presence and the clean mountain air, cozying into the warmth of him until he gently rouses her and suggests they get some sleep.

She quickly checks on the horses while he fetches water to extinguish the last of the flames, and then she's heading into the tepee with Killian only steps behind her. He ties the flap shut and she sets the lantern on the floor, reaching for their bags.

When she lays out her bedroll directly next to his and starts fastening their sleeping bags together, he raises an eyebrow questioningly. "And just what exactly do you think you're doing, darling?" his voice is teasing but still contains a hint of concern as he stands behind her, digging through his pack for a pair of pyjama pants.

"Doing what comes naturally," she says after a yawn, grinning at him over her shoulder, tossing his earlier words back at him.

He's tugging at his ear in the dim light of the lantern and she reaches for him, allowing him to pull her up. "Relax, we'll just be sleeping," she insists, squeezing his hand.

She'd like to do a hell of a lot more with him, but now's not the time or the place. He did an excellent job of pointing that out earlier.

No, tonight she just wants to sleep in his arms, to be close to him, cocooned in his scent and his warmth and the comfort of knowing that he'll still be there holding her when the sun rises in the morning.

He changes first, dropping his jeans to tug on flannel pyjama pants and she doesn't bother averting her eyes, just grins and admires the way his ass fills out his boxers when he bends to remove his socks. She's tempted to tell him that the pyjama pants aren't necessary, that she'd prefer to feel the hair on his legs, coarse against her bare skin, but he's already tempting enough fully clothed and she's not really sure she has that much willpower.

He catches her looking when he straightens because she's not being even remotely discrete and the grin he gives her can't be described as anything except smouldering.

He crawls into the joint sleeping bags and faces the canvas wall while she changes, always a consummate gentleman. She quickly swaps her jeans for sleep shorts, tossing her tank top and bra toward her bag before pulling on a baggy t-shirt and sliding in next to him.

Flipping onto his back, he stretches out an arm in an invitation to snuggle and she instantly molds herself against his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder as she slings a leg across his thighs and rests her palm on his chest. He smells like campfire and bug spray and warm summer nights and she breathes it all in as she shifts into a comfortable position.

She winds up half draped across him and he holds her close, chuckling as he kisses her forehead. "Comfy, love?"

"Very," she mumbles, sleep once again clinging to the periphery of her consciousness.

Trailing her fingers up his chest to his jaw, she tilts his head slightly, lifting her own just enough so that their lips meet in a lazy kiss; a slow and sleepy brush of lips.

She hums contently and sloppily kisses her way across his cheek, over his jaw, and down his neck to snuggle back down in her original position.

"Goodnight, love," he whispers as he tugs the blankets up and curls his arm back around her waist, fingers dipping beneath the hem of her t-shirt.

She wants to take a while to memorize the feel of lying in his arms, delight in the way they fit so perfectly together in a tangle of limbs, the way his breathing seems to sync with hers in the harmonic rise and fall of chests and beating hearts, but she barely has time to mumble "goodnight" before she's slipping into the unawareness of sleep.

* * *

When she wakes to birdsong and shadowy predawn light, she immediately notices five things. One; they've shifted in their sleep so that Killian is pressed tightly against her back. Two; his hand has found its way beneath the soft cotton of her t-shirt to lazily cup her left breast. Three; he appears to still be sleeping. Four; he has an erection. Five; it's wedged delightfully against her ass.

She doesn't mean to do it, not really. She swears she intends to ignore it all, close her eyes and grab another hour of sleep – it's still early after all, but instead she finds herself stretching, cat-like, arching her spine, pressing her hips backward and her chest forward, searching for friction, testing the waters, wondering what he'll do if he wakes.

She doesn't have to wait long to find out because suddenly he's twisting her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, chuckling darkly against her ear as he rocks his hips against her in a torturously slow rhythm that has her biting back a moan and silently cursing every single item of clothing between them.

"This is a dangerous game you're playing here, darling," he whispers as he rises up on one elbow and sweeps her hair to the side, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses behind her ear, licking and biting his way down the side of her neck to her shoulder.

"You started it," she insists, humming as his fingers trail over her ribcage to the other breast, feather-light and teasing. "I woke up and you'd already made second base while we were sleeping."

"You don't seem to be complaining," he points out as he shifts backwards slightly, making room for her to roll onto her back, his fingers still circling, tweaking.

Blinking up at him in the dim light, she mirrors the smirk on his face. "I'll only complain if you stop."

Groaning, he hangs his head, resting his forehead against her shoulder, still hard against her hip. "You and I both know that this can't go much further right now, love."

She sighs, reaching up to card her fingers through his hair. "I know."

He lifts his head and smiles at her as he slowly withdraws his hand from her beneath her shirt. "Perhaps it's best if we both just get up. I'll go get some coffee started," Killian offers, already working to extract himself from the blankets.

"Leave the coffee until later," she tells him, tugging him back down with a hand at the back of his neck, eyeing his lips. "If we hurry we can still catch the sunrise. There's a great spot nearby and it's only a 10 minute hike on foot."

And then she rises up to kiss him because she's not quite ready to let him go yet, and if they happen to spend a couple extra minutes here, making out in a pile of tangled limbs and blankets, they can grab a horse or two and ride instead of walking.

It doesn't take much persuasion on her part and a gentle tug on his shirt combined with a slight shift of her hips sees him settled between her thighs, pressed exactly where she wants him. He growls against her lips and when she hooks an ankle over his calf, grinding up against him, he pulls back, breaking the kiss. "Correct me if I'm wrong, darling, but we don't appear to be hurrying."

She laughs, grinning wide as she pushes on his shoulder and flips them so that she's straddling his hips.

"You're no fun at all," she jokes, settling her palms against his chest, feeing the crispness of his chest hair through the thin cotton of his shirt.

"And you," he says, ghosting his hands over her bare thighs to where the hem of her shorts have ridden up, "are a tease."

She scoffs and grins down at him, poking him in the stomach. "You're the one who insists on courting me first"

"What can I say, love? I'm a gentleman."

"You know, I'm beginning to doubt that, because _this_," she says, wigging her hips, grinding down against his erection, "doesn't feel very gentlemanly."

His short nails bite into the skin of her thighs, holding her there, pressing her down, and god, she really needs to stop because even with several layers of clothing between them he feels amazing and all she wants is to be branded by him, torrid steel against wet heat, and fuck, that so cannot happen right now.

"It would appear that you bring out the scoundrel in me." The corners of his mouth curl upwards in a devilish smile and he raises an eyebrow and that's all the warning she gets before he thrusts his hips upward, nearly unseating her. It's only the brace of her hands against his chest that keep her somewhat upright and she bites her bottom lip, meeting his eyes in a challenge.

She can play dirty too.

She holds his gaze as she trails her fingers down to the hem of his shirt and pushes it up until it bunches frustratingly beneath his armpits. It doesn't deter her though, it's enough that she's exposed plenty of dark hair and toned muscle to her wandering fingers. He tenses, jaw ticking as she drags her nails across his stomach, shifting backwards slightly so that she can teasingly trace the line of his hipbones down to where they meet with the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his pyjama pants.

When she dips her fingers just below the elastic, his breath is shallow and his eyes are wide, nearly black in the dim light, and she thinks it might just be enough that he'll cave and put a stop to this madness. Except she's obviously underestimated him, because suddenly he's tugging her shirt upwards and over her head, then sitting up to kiss her again, one hand against her lower back, holding her hips tight to his as the other cups her breast, thumb drawing maddening circles around her nipple.

Then his teeth and tongue and lips are everywhere, blazing a trail of wildfire down her neck, over her collarbone, across her chest, and when his lips close around her nipple, sucking, tongue swirling, she gasps, holding his head there even though she knows she really should be pushing him away instead, because it's already going to be hard enough to stop, to put her shirt back on and spend the rest of the day resisting the very real urge to jump him.

She's not sure it's going to be her that pulls away first, but with the way he's intently focused on sucking a bruise into delicate flesh, marring the swell of her breast, she's even more certain that it's not going to be him, so she drops her head back, sighs heavily, and regretfully whispers his name as she strokes the back of his neck. "If we want to catch that sunrise, now would be a good time to actually hurry."

Killian chuckles and nuzzles against her sternum before looking up at her and reaching sideways to collect her shirt from the floor. "You change first, love. I'll wait outside."

She wants to tell him that it's not necessary, but it probably is if they have any hopes of them actually catching the sunrise.

Before rising, she takes her shirt from his hand and leans forward to kiss him, softly, chastely, more so that she would have thought possible in the situation. When she stands, she reaches for her bra first and quickly fastens it as Killian steps outside.

Her underwear are damp, almost embarrassingly so, and she groans at the slickness between her thighs because god, it's just second base and a little bit of dry humping and she doesn't think she's ever been this aroused in her life.

She really needs to focus on getting dressed though, because he's still standing outside waiting, barefoot, as it seems he didn't think to put on his boots before leaving the tepee. She changes her underwear quickly and tugs on yesterday's jeans with a clean tank top and a sweater, tucking her pyjamas away before reaching for her boots and stepping through the flap.

"Your turn," she tells him, reaching out to brush her fingers over his shoulder, leaning into his side. "I'll get the horses ready. You okay with riding bareback?"

He turns and kisses her cheek, "Aye, I'll be back out in a moment," before disappearing into the shelter.

The early morning is cool, a light breeze twisting through her hair, but there's already humidity in the air that promises intense heat within an hour or two of sunrise. There's heavy dew on the grass as she grabs a couple of bridles from the other tepee and makes her over to the corral. The horses are still dozing, gathered together, standing just inside the shelter and she talks softly to them as she approaches.

The two mares eye her warily, clearly thinking she's insane to be up and awake at this hour, and she opts instead for the more willing company of the two chestnut geldings.

She bridles them quickly and by the time she's leading them back toward the gate, Killian is there waiting, watching her, and he's got this soft little smile on his lips and adoration in his eyes, and maybe he's a little bit in love with her too, because it's the same way her father has been smiling at her mother for as long as she can remember and she can't help but think that no one has ever looked at her quite this way before.

And suddenly the heated urgency of just minutes ago is falling away and it's hitting her once again just how real and scary this all is. But right there next to the fear is everything she feels for him, and the evidence of everything he certainly feels for her, and he's still just standing there, gazing at her, and somehow the panic she was expecting doesn't arrive.

There's a sparkle of laughter in his eyes now and she realizes that she should probably start walking toward him again because the sky is already a brilliant shade of golden orange on the eastern horizon and the birds are singing in earnest now, a resounding crescendo to welcome the rising sun.

Killian opens the gate for her so she can lead the horses through and then latches it before joining her. They use the sturdy cedar rails of the corral to mount and then she's leading the way off through the trees. She steers her horse right where they'd usually turn left to head home and she follows the rough trail through the bush until it become too narrow for the horses to safely pass.

"We'll have to walk the rest of the way," she tells him, swinging her leg over the horse's back and sliding lithely to the forest floor. Killian follows suit and they secure the horses to a tree.

She holds out her hand, reaching for him and he takes it, following her willingly as she leads him up the steep incline. When the trees clear, they break through to a rocky outcropping that overlooks the valley where the tepees are located and vastness of the surrounding wilderness below, acres of forest and rivers and lakes, stretching off into the distant mountains beyond.

"Wow," Killian says, stopping dead in his tracks.

She laughs because that's probably the least eloquent thing she's ever heard him say.

"Hard to believe I ever gave all this up for the city, huh?"

"You were in love."

She frowns. "I was an idiot," she corrects, and then she's tugging on his hand because it's far too beautiful up here to dwell on the past. "Come on."

She's forced to drop his hand as she climbs over the jagged boulders, but as soon as she takes a seat in front of him, he's touching her again within seconds, fingers curling over her shoulder, making her wish that their position up here on the rocks was a little less precarious, and perhaps a bit more comfortable because even though he's right behind her, she wants him closer.

"I'm not sure I've ever seen a view quite this spectacular," he tells her as his thumb circles, digging in to work out a knotted muscle in her shoulder while they wait for the sun to crest over the distant horizon.

She hums in response and struggles to keep her eyes open because it feels amazing and she's definitely going to have to ask him for a proper backrub sometime soon.

Shifting, his fingers move to the back of her neck and into her hair, combing through the long locks. "Did your father show you this spot?"

She nods. "This is actually where he asked mom to marry him."

Killian's hand stills for a second and she tenses, wanting to kick herself for saying it, because maybe mentioning marriage at dawn in what is probably one of the most romantic places ever, isn't the brightest idea she's ever had. But then his fingers are moving again and she can hear the grin in his voice when he speaks.

"I'm pretty sure that with a view like this, if your father asked, _I'd_ have said yes," Killian jokes, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.

Reaching her hand across her chest to her shoulder, she links her fingers with his in what she hopes he recognises as a silent thank you for his unfailing ability to know exactly when to make a joke and lighten the mood.

His fingers are warm against hers, a welcoming anchor as the sun rises, all honeyed hues, bathing the landscape in radiant light and scattering heat across summer grass gone to seed, turning the lakes and rivers below into molten gold, but she doesn't pay the sight the attention is probably deserves.

She's more focused on the feel of Killian's thumb as it skims the sensitive valley between her thumb and forefinger; a metronome of sorts, soothing is its consistency. There's also the fact that when she leans back, just slightly, her torso is cradled by his knees, and if she were to lean a little further, she could probably rest her head in his lap, smile up at him and admire him from a new angle, but they've already played with fire this morning and she's not sure she should tempt fate again so soon.

She does lean into his leg a little though, winding her grasp around his ankle beneath the hem of his jeans, rough hair against her palm as she tiptoes her fingers up the strong muscles of his calf. It's an innocent enough touch, but still she feels the depth of his inhale, hears it too as he leans forward and scrapes his stubbled jaw against the shell of her ear. "About ready to head back, love?"

How is it that he manages to make something so positively ordinary, sound downright sinful?

"I am," she says as she releases her hold on him and stands, carefully turning to face him, resting her hands on his shoulders for balance. "I can't believe we've been awake for close to an hour and I haven't had any coffee yet."

Killian laughs, looking up at her from where he still sits on the rocks. His hands settle low on her hips, fingers curling into the flesh of her denim-clad ass. "I can be quite the distraction," he tells her, sliding his grip down to the back of her thighs, pulling her a step closer.

Huffing in faked annoyance, she takes his hands and removes them from where they rest just below the curve of her ass. "I've noticed that. But this sort of distraction," she says, referring to his wandering hands, "should probably wait until after breakfast, and preferably when we're standing someplace where I'm a little less likely to fall to my death."

He grins and carefully stands. "Let's not dawdle then, love."

They make their way back down to the horses, remount using a fallen log, and head back to camp.

Killian puts away the horses while she starts a fire for breakfast, and by the time she's got the water boiling, she's pulling off her sweater because the morning sun, combined with humid air and the heat of the campfire, already has sweat beading at her temples and clinging to her lower back, sticky and uncomfortable as she knots her hair in a bun and adds the instant coffee to the smaller pot of water.

Killian joins her with a large bag of oatmeal in one hand and a battery operated radio in the other. He's also discarded his sweater and she can't say she'd mind if he decided to go shirtless altogether.

"I've not a clue how late those lads were up last night, but it's already hotter than the bloody pits of hell out here, so I was thinking we should try to wake them and head back this morning before the afternoon heat hits."

"Good idea." She stirs the coffee and wipes at the sweat on her brow before taking the bag of oatmeal from him. "Maybe this evening you can take Abi out for a trail ride? She mentioned wanting to give it a go when we picked her up last weekend. Mom and I can look after Colin for a couple hours."

"You should come with us," he insists, handing her a cloth filled with fresh picked blueberries.

"Where did you find these?" She pops one of the berries in her mouth and holds them out so he can take one. "And I don't want to intrude on your time together. She's only here until Saturday."

"Found a cluster of bushes on the far side of the corral; thought they'd go nicely with the oatmeal," he tells her, sitting down on the log. "You'd not be intruding, darling. Abigail likes you and as you surely already know, I'm rather fond of your company."

"All right," she agrees easily. If he's insisting, she isn't going to argue.

While she stirs the oatmeal into the boiling water, he turns on the radio and fiddles with the antenna until it picks up a relatively clear country station. He turns the volume up to an almost obnoxiously loud level, and she shakes her head, laughing as he goes to fetch the dishes, because god, he's _bad_ and she can already hear a displeased "Oh, come on!" sounding from the guest tepee.

She adds almonds, dried cranberries and apricots to the oatmeal when it thickens and Killian sprinkles blueberries on top after she scoops it into their bowls. It's almost too hot out to even think about drinking coffee, but caffeine addiction is a very real thing, so she tries to at least be thankful that the log they're seated upon is still shaded by the shelter at their backs.

They're nearly finished breakfast when the 'Fatuous Four' finally stumble out of their tepee.

Killian reaches over to the radio and turns the volume down to a more reasonable level.

"Coffee and breakfast," she directs, pointing to the pots keeping warm over the dying fire.

They grunt and make a beeline for the coffee mugs and she elbows Killian lightly, trying not to laugh at the smug look on his face.

He tosses her a winning smile, shovels the last bite of oatmeal into his mouth, sets the bowl on the ground, and wraps his arm around her waist, hooking his fingers in the belt loop at her hip.

He's being a possessive ass and she really should scold him for it because it's hardly professional and it really is way too hot out for any sort of snuggling, but he just looks so damn happy that she doesn't have the heart to reprimand him or push him away just yet.

Packing up the camp and getting everyone back on their horses takes longer than expected, and it's after 1pm by the time they've returned the guests to their cabin and are heading back to the barn with the horses in tow.

Mary Margaret and Abi are sitting at the picnic table beneath an umbrella with what looks like a pitcher of lemonade, and Davis is playing with Colin and Duke in a plastic kiddie pool in the shade of the large maple. They wave and Emma waves back, wondering if it would be frowned upon to abandon Killian with the horses, belly-flop in the water, and gulp down the entire jug of lemonade.

_Probably._

"Dibs on the shower!" she declares as she dismounts by the barn and pulls at the sweaty tank top clinging to her torso.

"I don't suppose you'd prefer to share?" Killian asks.

His voice is serious, but his eyes are mischievous, and if they were alone, she might just take him up on the offer.

"I'm not sure my parents would approve if you followed me through the house and into the shower; some other time instead."

"I'll hold you to that, love," he promises with a lecherous grin that lingers as they un-tack and release the horses into the empty pen beside the barn.

It's a mental picture that is only too easy to conjure and suddenly the heat of the day is nothing compared to the burning desire she feels for him, easily rekindled by a look and several promising words.

They haven't discussed telling her parents yet and she knows that both the discussion and the actual act will have to happen sooner or later, but she's fairly certain pinning him to the exterior wall of the barn and having her way with him isn't the best way to go about it.

Besides, she wants to wait until Abi and Colin leave; she knows that much for sure. She doesn't want anything to get in the way of Killian spending time with his family. They're meant to be the focus here, not her.

And while she knows her parents adore him, it doesn't stop her from being nervous about telling them. She can't help but think that maybe waiting and letting things develop a little bit first might be the wisest course of action. They haven't even been on a date yet. It's still so new and exciting, and he knows the general details of her past with Neal, but she knows nothing of his relationship history and it's not that she wants all the gory details, but it's probably a conversation they should have sometime soon.

"Emma, love?"

She looks over at him. "Yeah?"

"I'll put the tack away and fetch a sweat scrapper. Want to pull the hose out and rinse the horses off?

She nods and starts unreeling the hose, glad that he seems less likely to lose himself in thought. Either that or he's just significantly better than she is at continuing on with a task while contemplating life, love, and all sorts of other complicated things.

She hoses off the horses one by one and he removes the excess water from their coats with the sweat scrapper before returning them to the field.

The camping supplies get left in the barn isle for now; they can deal with them after showering and eating a proper lunch. The stalls are done thanks to her father, and with no guest trail rides scheduled, they'll have the rest of the afternoon to relax until it's time to bring in and feed.

She says a quick hello to everyone before heading inside to shower, and as she climbs the porch steps, smiling, she watches Killian bend awkwardly to dunk his head in the kiddie pool.

Leaving her clothes in a sweaty heap in the bathroom doorway, she turns the shower to lukewarm and steps under the refreshing spray. She makes it quick and only lingers long enough to ensure that the sweat and build up of sunscreen and dirt and grime are washed from her skin and her hair.

Shorts and an airy tank top will do; there's no way in hell she's wearing jeans again today and if she joins Abi and Killian for a trail ride this evening, she'll probably just ride bareback.

She sticks her head out the screen door and shouts to tell Killian that the shower is free before retreating back to the kitchen in search of a late lunch.

Killian passes her in the kitchen with a smile, grabs a change of clothes from his bag in the living room, and heads down the hall to use the shower.

There's a grilled chicken breast and half a container of Greek salad left in the fridge, but it's not enough for both of them so she grabs a box of Kraft Dinner from the pantry and sets water on the stove to boil.

While she waits, she sits down at the table to check her phone. Ruby and Belle are both hoping to catch up with her soon and she tells them she'll check with everyone here, but that Friday evening might be a good time for dinner and a fire. The water boils and she adds the noodles before sitting back down to plan out what is now looking like a tentative get-together with Belle, Ruby, Will, and Victor.

She's stirring in the powdered cheese and heating up the chicken in the microwave when Killian joins her in the kitchen.

"Cooking for me again, love?" he asks as he walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, peering over her shoulder.

She leans back into his chest, powerless not to. "It's nothing special, just boxed mac and cheese with some leftover chicken."

"Looks good to me." He presses a kiss to her cheek and she's struck by how positively domestic this all is.

She can't help but picture the same scene several years down the road. It's enough to send her heart thundering erratically against her breast and she leans forward a bit to the stir the pasta again. "There's salad in the fridge; could you mix it up please?"

He pulls back, his hands slowly leaving her hips. "Of course, darling. Will we be joining the others outside?"

"We should," she says, spooning the Kraft Dinner into bowls and pulling the chicken from the microwave. She slices it up and divides it between the two bowls, making sure he gets the bigger helping. Grabbing forks from the cutlery drawer, she tucks them into the bowls. "I've got these if you can carry the salad and a couple glasses?"

He nods. "Forks?"

"Already got 'em." She crosses the kitchen and slips into flip-flops, using her elbow to open the screen door and hold it open so that he can walk through.

They join her mother and Abi at the picnic table beneath the shade of the large umbrella, arranging dishes and filling glasses with lemonade.

"You're back earlier than usual," Mary Margaret observes. "If I'd known, I'd have made sure there was enough lunch left over for both of you."

"That's all right," Killian says, beating her to the punch. "Emma and I are perfectly capable of fending for ourselves when the occasion calls for it, aren't we, love?"

"You don't have to cook for us all the time, mom," Emma confirms.

"Just when you feel like eating something that didn't come out of a box or a can?" her mother teases.

Emma rolls her eye in good humour as she takes another bite of pasta. "Hey! Don't mock the KD! You practically raised me on this stuff!"

"That's because you hated eating anything but pasta, cheese, Lucky Charms, and watermelon until you were nearly ten."

Killian and Abi laugh at that and Emma joins in, because hearing it out loud; it really does sound rather ridiculous.

"Just be glad I grew out of the picky eating, okay?" She stabs a tomato and some lettuce with her fork. Killian didn't bother with individual salad bowls, so they're both eating out of the big one, silently fighting over olives. "Speaking of cooking though..."

Her mother huffs dramatically. "Hmm?"

"Ruby and Belle might come over on Friday evening and they want to bring Victor and Will, but I wanted to check with all of you first. I know it will be your last night here, Abi, but I know Belle would like to see you and Colin again and I was thinking it could almost be a farewell party of sorts? Only if you're okay with it though."

"Aye, that'd be delightful," Abi says. "Victor and Will are Ruby and Belle's boyfriends, correct?"

Emma nods. "Victor is Ruby's, yes. I'm not sure Will has acquired that title just yet."

Killian gives her a pointed look, smirking, and she discretely kicks at him under the table. No doubt it's a title he's also hoping to acquire some time soon.

"You should invite Ashley and Sean as well," Mary Margaret suggests. "Tell them to bring Alexa along. I'd be happy to watch over her and Colin for the evening so you can all enjoy yourselves."

Killian chimes in next. "And I'll offer to do the cooking. We can keep it simple; barbeque hamburgers and hotdogs."

As they finish eating, they discuss plans, form detailed shopping lists for food and booze, and decide that if anyone wants to sleep over, they can set up tents on the lawn.

After that, Killian helps her pack away the camping supplies and the rest of the afternoon is spent as a group. They lounge outside for a while longer, but the heat of mid-afternoon is intense and uncomfortable, so they end up retreating into the house to watch a movie.

Colin selects 'Up' at random from the shelf and somehow Emma ends up sitting on the pull-out couch with Killian on her right, Abi on her left, Colin in her lap, and Duke at her feet.

It's strange to be sitting around with nothing pressing to do in the middle of the day. It's even stranger to sandwiched on a pull-out bed between the guy she has serious feelings for and his sister-in-law, his nephew snuggled contently on her lap, little fingers twisting with the end of her braid while he giggles gleefully and watches Carl's house rise, carried away by a mass of colourful balloons.

Her mother sits in the arm chair and her father drags in a chair from the kitchen table and she's pretty sure that when she was younger, they had far more furniture in the living room.

Killian doesn't make a single move to reach out for her during the movie and she almost wishes he would because the unintentional press of his bent knee against her thigh and the contact from shoulder to elbow are both too much and not nearly enough.

When the movie ends, her mother throws frozen lasagna in the oven and Abi and Colin come out to the barn to help with bringing in and feeding the horses. With Colin underfoot it all takes significantly longer than usual, especially because he decides that he wants to ride a pony and they end up distracted, leading Sophie in circles around the driveway.

Emma leads the pony and Killian walks by the mare's side, a steadying hand on Colin's hip. Abi takes pictures and video with her phone, a proud smile on her face.

David sticks this head out the door, calling them for dinner, and they return the mare to her stall, chasing Colin across the yard and up the steps. Abi follows her son in first and Killian grins at Emma as he holds the door open. Something about the way he's looking at her stops her in her tracks. She'd like to kiss him, or quite possibly smack him, because he looks a little like a lovesick puppy and it's so not subtle at all.

"You two coming?" Abi calls from the kitchen.

"Right behind you!" Emma calls back, swatting Killian in the chest as she passes. "You're being bad," she scolds, hushed so that only he can hear it.

He winks at her. "Oh, I'm aware, love."

He's all calm, collected nonchalance as he strides into the kitchen, and she takes a moment to pull herself together before following him.

They're at this stage right now where almost every single touch, no matter how innocent, is just loaded with the potential for more, and goddamnit, she should not be this turned on by the soft brush of his fingers against her lower back as he passes by her in the tight confines of the kitchen on his way to grab lettuce from the fridge for her mother.

Hell, most of the time all he has to do is _look_ at her and it's like striking a match against the dried tinder of her blood, setting her alight in an inferno that threatens to consume.

He better have a plan in the works for a date or two soon, because she already feels like she's about to snap in two and she's not sure how much longer she's going to be able to wait before she corners him in the barn and says to hell with waiting and to hell with doing this his way.

She's filled with jittery anticipation, excitement bordering on frustration, and dinner lasts far too long for her liking. Even after the plates are empty, no one seems to be in a great hurry to rise, and because she needs something to do, needs to take a step away from Killian, she gathers the dishes and gets started on washing.

Evening brings with it a refreshing breeze and she joins Killian and Abi for a relaxed ride through the fields, content to lead the way and listen to them talk, lulled into a blissful state of relaxation by the sway of the horse beneath her. It's a welcome reprieve from the gnawing desire she's been saddled with since she woke in his arms this morning, but she suspects it won't last, has reason to believe that the second they're alone, the tension will quite likely return with a vengeance.

She's surprised to find out that she's wrong.

By the time night check rolls around, they're both yawning, dragging their feet as they complete the routine tasks as quickly as possible, so in sync that they don't even have to talk.

Killian winds up the last of the hose and she waits for him by the light switches, flicking them off when he joins her in the doorway. She instantly leans heavily into his chest and closes her eyes, wrapping her arms around his waist and yawning.

He echoes her yawn and hugs her back. "Tired, love?"

"Mhmm," she mumbles against his chest, wishing she could just drag him inside and into her bed.

"Perhaps we should head inside?" he suggests, fingers soothing over her spine.

She pulls back to look at him, as much as she can in the dark of night, reaching up to stroke her thumb over his cheek. She guides him down for a kiss, soft and slow, the sleepy sweep of his tongue against hers lacking its earlier heat, pulling a silly smile to her lips as she tries and fails to fight off another yawn.

He ends up half chuckling as he nuzzles into her hair and yawns as well. She takes that as a definite sign that sleep is in order, and with a gentle shove she turns him and pushes him through the barn doors, latching them behind her.

She trails him to the house and all the way into the living room where he sits down on the edge of the bed and looks up at her with sleepy eyes. Her parents are still awake, she can hear them just down the hall getting ready for bed, but she doesn't stop him when he pulls the t-shirt over his head and hands it to her with an uncertain smile, clearly intending for her to sleep in it.

Taking it willingly, she hugs it to her chest and reaches out to brush the wild hair from his forehead. "Goodnight, Killian," she says softly before turning and heading down the hall, away from the temptation of sleeping in his arms.

His shirt and his scent will have to suffice.

"May you have the sweetest dreams, darling," he replies just as quietly, and his voice follows her, stays with her as she gets ready for bed, brushes her teeth, strips to her underwear, and slips into his shirt.

Wrapped up in his familiar, comforting scent, the echo of his words and the ghost of his touch follow her into sleep, flooding her dreams with nothing but him.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Hello my loves! Another long wait, I know, I know, but this is officially the longest chapter to date, so hopefully you'll forgive me! ;) Also, this chapter officially puts the fic at over 100k words and I'm actually shocked that it's gotten this long!

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"I thought you said you just wanted to do hamburgers and hotdogs?" Emma asks as she picks through the shavings and tosses the last pile of manure into the wheelbarrow in the doorway.

"Aye, for supper, but there's still the matter of appetizers and dessert," Killian replies from the stall across the aisle.

Groaning, she spreads out the clean shavings and moves her wheelbarrow to the next stall. "I think you're making this a lot more complicated than it needs to be."

"How so?" He smiles at her infuriatingly, still working. "It's hardly complicated, love. I'm simply proposing that we make some of the food ourselves instead of purchasing it frozen, boxed, or bagged."

She pouts and whines a little, "But that's _so_ much work."

"Perhaps, but more for I than you – you don't have to help me in the kitchen, I'm just asking for ideas – you've a better idea what your friends would like."

Abandoning her pitchfork, she crosses the aisle to lean against the door of the stall he's working in, watching his muscles flex as he sorts through the soiled bedding. "This whole thing was my idea, so obviously I'm not going to let you do all the work alone, I just think it would be easier to do chips and dip and maybe grab something premade from the bakery. We still have trail rides to do this afternoon," she points out. "How are you planning to fit this all in?"

He doesn't stop mucking, just throws another shovelful into the wheelbarrow and grins at her. "I _plan_ to fit this all in by hastening through this morning's chores so we can run into town before lunch: an endeavour, darling, we should be able to manage if you'd quit gazing at me and get back to work."

He's teasing her, a stupid smirk on his face and she'd like to kiss it off, but instead she does as suggested and returns to mucking, rolling her eyes.

"I wasn't gazing," she retorts, too late and with nowhere near enough force, because Killian just raises a skeptical eyebrow.

She probably was gazing. It's hard not to, especially now that she knows the taste of his lips and the feel of his arms around her, his scent still clinging to the t-shirt tucked away beneath her pillow. Maybe spending a couple hours with him in the kitchen won't be such a bad thing. Maybe they'll actually be alone long enough that she can steal a kiss (or several) and pester him about his plans for their yet to be scheduled date.

Any plans she'd had to kiss him this morning had been instantly swept away in a wave of disappointment when she woke to find her parents already up and in the kitchen. And since then, her father has been in and out of the barn, restocking grain and doing regular maintenance on the tractor, never gone for long enough to risk losing herself in a kiss.

"Are any of your friends opposed to rhubarb?" Killian asks several minutes later when he returns from dumping his wheelbarrow. "I just noticed your mother's got some in the garden and I was thinking perhaps I'd make apple rhubarb crisp for dessert?"

"I'm not sure about Will, but as far as I know, everyone else is a fan." She almost salivates at the thought of it. "We should get ice cream to go with it. Ingrid has this cinnamon and vanilla bean flavour that is just..." she bites her lower lip, trying to think of the right word to describe it – orgasmic comes to mind, but in the end she goes with the safer option of "really, really good."

If she didn't know better, she'd swear Killian could read her mind, because the look on his face as he watches her is anything but innocent, and she takes the opportunity to turn his words around and throw them back at him. "Killian?"

"Aye, love?"

"Stop staring and get back to work."

He laughs and nods, pushing his wheelbarrow toward the next stall. "Yes, dear."

She makes a point of focusing after that, and it seems he does too, because they finish the stalls and are done sweeping out the barn before 10 o'clock.

Killian hangs his broom on the wall next to hers and brushes the dust and hay bits from his jeans. "Would you like to drive, love, or shall I?"

"You can," she tells him, following him out of the barn and toward the house. "The jeep has more room for groceries and beer."

Mary Margaret and Abi are in the living room, seated at the foot of the bed, chatting while Colin rolls around on the floor with Duke, squealing every time the aging dog licks at his face.

Killian grabs his wallet and keys from the table next to the bed and pockets them before crouching to tickle Colin and rub Duke's belly.

"Are you two done the stalls already?" Mary Margaret asks, looking at the clock.

Killian nods. "Aye, stepped up our game this morning so we'd have time to run into town for supplies and get some prep-work done in the kitchen before the trail rides this afternoon."

"This one here is insisting on homemade appetizers and dessert," Emma says, jerking her thumb in Killian's direction.

Mary Margaret looks impressed, Abi looks proud, and Killian just shakes his head. "We should get going," he reminds her, nodding toward the door.

"Just let me grab my purse."

She heads down the hall to her room and grabs it from the hook on the back of her door, checking her phone as she returns to the living room. Belle, Ruby, and the guys had confirmed right away to say they were coming, but she's still been waiting to hear back from Ashley.

"You're welcome to come into town with us," Killian tells Abi as he gives Duke one last rub and straightens.

"Nah, you go ahead, we'll just slow you down," Abi insists. "Besides, Mary Margaret is going to take us for a little hike to find a pond with some frogs and tadpoles."

Colin looks up and claps his hands in excitement. "Fwogies!"

Emma laughs, imagining the little boy splashing around in murky water; scaring off all of the frogs he has hopes of catching. "Have fun!"

"Oh, I'm certain we shall," Abi says, shaking her head and moving from the bed to scoop up her son. "Let's go get you ready, little lad."

They walk with Colin and Abi across the driveway and part ways at the jeep, and just seconds after she gets seated and buckled, her phone beeps and vibrates against her hip, signalling an incoming text. She pulls it from her pocket and Killian starts the car, heading up the driveway.

**\- Hey, Emma! We'll be there! Found someone to come in and check on the dogs this evening. Alexa is looking forward to playing with Colin again! Is there anything you need us to bring? -**

Emma smiles and types out her reply, glad that they'll be able to make it. **\- Just yourselves! See you guys tonight! - **

"Ashley and Sean found a dog-sitter, so they'll be coming and bringing Alexa," she tells Killian, reaching for his hand after she tucks her phone away in her purse.

"Ah, that's excellent; Colin will be thrilled." He links his fingers with hers and brings her hand to his lips, kissing each one of her knuckles while keeping his eyes fixed on the road. The stubble of his beard is coarse in contrast to the softness of his lips and she shivers despite the warm summer air gusting in through the open windows.

She briefly wonders if he has any idea of the effect he has on her; how effortlessly the smallest touch tugs at her heart and twists her up in knots. Judging by the small smile flirting with his lips, she suspects that he does.

"You didn't have to bring your wallet, love, I'm happy to pay," he insists, glancing over at her as he settles their joint hands back down on the console.

"No way am I letting you pay for it all. I'll get the alcohol, and if you must, you can pay for the groceries."

He chuckles and seems to accept it, so she lapses into silence and looks out at the blur of scenery zipping past, enjoying the scent of freshly mowed grass and morning wood fire.

Hanging her arm out the open window, she lets her fingers ride the roller coaster current while the wind does its best to unravel her braid, loose strands whipping against her face. She closes her eyes and breathes deep, letting the peaceful perfection of the moment wash over her.

"So, this date..." she begins, opening her eyes and turning her attention to Killian. "Where are you taking me and how long are you going to make me wait?"

"It's a surprise, and I'm thinking Sunday."

She leans over the console and sighs. "How will I know what to wear? And that's only two days away. We haven't told my parents about us yet; aren't they going to think it's strange if we just wander off without any explanation?"

She's probably worrying too much, but they're both valid questions.

He squeezes her hand reassuringly, understanding, without words, as he always does. "Dress as you normally would, nothing fancy required, and as for your parents, I've got it covered."

"Covered how?"

"I can't go into detail without ruining the surprise, love, but I trust me when I say that nothing will appear even remotely suspicious, all right?" he promises, and she does trust him, does believe him, she just wants to make sure.

"It's not that I don't want them to know, I just," she huffs and swipes the hair from her face, "I guess I just want to enjoy this – us, without any outside interference for a while first. I mean I'm pretty sure they're not going to do anything drastic like fire you, because let's face it, my dad practically worships you, but that won't stop him from doing the whole over protective father thing; frowning and lurking and making life awkward. And mom will probably jump right into picking out china patterns, and I'm so not ready for that. Besides, do I seem like the kind of girl that gives a crap about fine china? Is that even a thing still?"

He laughs and releases her hand to pull her as close as her seatbelt will allow. "Whenever you're ready, darling, we'll tell them, and not a moment sooner. There's no rush."

Leaning into his shoulder, she kisses his cheek. "Thank you," she tells him, meaning it. And then, to lighten the mood, she adds, "You won't even give me a hint?"

In an instant his fingers find the ticklish spot between her ribs and hipbone and she squeals, practically leaping all the way back into her own seat, looking at him like she's been betrayed.

"You're ticklish," he declares proudly, shit-eating grin lighting up his face.

"Noooo."

He looks away from the road for a second and raises an eyebrow. "Lies," he whispers accusingly, reaching out, threatening to tickle her again. He doesn't even make contact, but it's enough to send her into a fit of giggles that she can't quite manage to shake until they're pulling into the parking lot of the liquor store.

"Do we have a list, love?" he asks her as they walk toward the door.

She grabs a cart at the entrance and shrugs her shoulders. "Beer, maybe some wine. Whatever else catches your eye?"

They end up picking an assortment of canned beer and other mixed beverages; Canadian, Guinness, Sleeman, Jack &amp; Lemonade, plus half dozen blackberry ciders. She also grabs a couple bottles of white wine that she knows her mother loves and adds them to the cart as they head to the check out.

The cashier rings them through without asking for ID and Emma's pretty sure it's only because she's here with Killian. Whenever she buys alcohol alone, without fail, they eye her like she's some under-aged delinquent and spend a ridiculous amount of time scrutinising her driver's licence.

Piling their purchases in the back, they choose to simply walk across the street to the grocery store. It's a small town and driving such a short distance just to find another parking spot seems silly. With the two of them, carrying the bags back to the jeep won't be an issue.

She grabs a cart and follows Killian through the store, wishing she'd thought to bring a sweater along. It's always been ridiculously cold with the air conditioning running in this grocery store and she bounces slightly on the spot while Killian picks out an assortment of vegetables, some of which she's not even sure she can name.

Stepping closer to him, she yanks the list from his hand while he's distracted selecting ears of sweet corn. He smiles at her and she quickly scans the list, ripping off the bottom half containing dry or packaged items.

"I'll grab these and meet you in the frozen section?"

"Sounds like a plan, love, make sure the kidney beans are canned, not bagged, aye?"

"Aye aye, Captain," she jokes, laughing when he shakes his head and does that damnable waggle of his eyebrows.

Grabbing a basket she piles in hamburger and hotdog buns next to a couple bags of flat bread. She's not sure what he intends to use it for, but she'd rather have too much than not enough. A can of white kidney beans, orecchiette pasta, and oatmeal are next on the list. She follows those up with a jar of salsa, tortilla chips, and a bag of Cheetos in an act of defiance she knows he'll pick up on.

She finds him in the frozen aisle a moment later, grabbing a box of hamburgers from the freezer shelf.

"What's left on the list?" she asks, transferring the items from the basket to the cart.

He snorts rather indelicately when he sees the Cheetos, but he chooses not to comment on her ridiculous choice of snack food. "Just the hotdogs and some sausage," he tells her, leading the way down the aisle.

She peeks into the cart as they walk, trying to guess what he's planning to make from the assortment of groceries he's selected. Whatever he has planned, she has no doubt it will be delicious. She's tasted his cooking before and it's a far cry from the disappointment of frozen dinners and leftover take-out that she got used to while living with Neal.

It's a welcome thought to know that someday down the road, if things go well and they end up living together, she won't have to visit her mother in search of a decent meal. It's also a little surreal and it brings up a boatload of questions that she doesn't have answers to, so she pushes it from her mind and focuses on picking out her father's favourite brand of all-beef hotdogs while Killian selects the sausage.

The grocery store is quiet this early in the day and they don't have to wait in line, which means it's not long before they're carrying the groceries back across the street and awkwardly juggling the bags so that Killian can open the hatch.

A quick trip into Any Given Sundae to pick up the ice cream, followed by an impromptu stop at Granny's for a take-out order of grilled cheese and onion rings to eat in the car, and then they're back on the road. She considers kissing Killian while they're stopped at the lights heading out of town, but Gus rolls up next to them, instantly recognises the jeep, and rolls down his window to say hello.

When they get home they put away the groceries, working around her father in the kitchen as he finishes up the breakfast dishes and makes himself a sandwich. Killian gets her to cut up an assortment of bell peppers, parsley, and radicchio while he browns the sausage in a frying pan. He pulls a second pan from the drawer and adds the chopped pepper and radicchio to that one.

She chops arugula next while Killian starts a pot of boiling water for the pasta and preheats the oven. He seems to be doing it all without any sort of recipe and even her father looks impressed.

After finishing his sandwich, David gets roped into peeling and slicing apples, and Emma fetches rhubarb stalks from the garden, washing them and dicing them into bite sized pieces.

When it's all said and done, there's a large apple rhubarb crisp cooling on the counter and a colourful pasta salad saran-wrapped on the middle shelf of the fridge. The sausage and arugula get tucked away to be used atop the flatbread later, and as 1 o'clock approaches, her father shoos them out the door, insisting that he'll finish with the clean up.

The afternoon is a blur of guests and horses, trail rides and familiar scenery, and by the time they've fed and settled all the horses back in their stalls for the day, she's looking forward to a shower and an ice cold cider.

"You shower first, love," Killian tells her as they trudge back to the house.

Outside, David is prepping the fire pit, and inside, Abi and Mary Margaret are seated at the kitchen table, conversing quietly. Colin is passed out on the pull-out couch next to Duke, and Emma pads quietly past them on the way to her room, grinning when she sees the small plastic terrarium complete with a couple frogs on the coffee table.

She braids her hair again after showering and dresses casually in jean shorts and a tank top, tying a flannel around her waist for later after the sun sets.

The kitchen smells fabulous when she rejoins the group and asks what she can do.

Her mother and Abi have already started on the wine and Killian helps her move the large cooler full of ice and drinks out to the porch, so all she has to do is pull the flat bread from the oven when the timer beeps.

Killian heads down the hall to shower and she grabs a cider from the cooler before taking a seat at the table. "I'm not sure why you like this whole party throwing business so much, mom. It's a lot of work," she whines.

Her mother laughs and places a mollifying pat on her hand. "It gets easier the more you do it."

Abi nods in agreement and they go on to talk about Colin's frog catching adventures, trying to remain quiet so that the exhausted boy can nap for a while longer.

The timer goes off and Emma stretches in her chair, reaching out to silence it quickly, but then a car door slams and Duke leaps off the bed and runs through the kitchen, barking loudly as he paws impatiently at the screen door. Seconds after that Colin starts crying and they all stand at once.

"I'll get the food," Emma says, pulling on the oven mitts.

Mary Margaret starts toward the door. "Dog."

"Screaming child," Abi laughs, heading into the living room.

Emma pulls the pans containing the flat bread from the oven and sits them on the stove to cool, and it's only because they're still steaming that she resists the urge to snag a bite. She assumes that Killian plans to cut them up into smaller pieces, but she'll leave that up to him when he returns.

Turning the oven off, she digs through the cupboard to locate two large chip bowls, plus a smaller one for the salsa. She stacks them on the table next to the grocery bag with the chips and does a small spin, looking around the kitchen and trying to determine what else needs to be done.

The corn is already soaking in the sink, and outside she can see that her dad has a fire going in preparation for cooking it, so she steps into the living room to see if Abi needs a hand with Colin.

The boy is sitting up now, snuffling quietly and Emma walks over to the coffee table and crouches to look at the frogs in the terrarium. "What are their names?" she asks the Colin, holding up the little tank comprised of half-land, half-water.

"Hoppy n' Mud," he tells her, pointing with a chubby finger and wiping at his eyes with the other hand. "Ma says we can't keep, they has to stay with Killy."

Emma smiles at that. "Well I'll make sure that Killy takes real good care of them."

"Take care of who now?" Killian asks, appearing and crouching down beside her.

"HOPPY AAAAAAND... MUD!" Colin exclaims excitedly.

"Your new pets," Emma clarifies, laughing at the slightly bewildered look on Killian's face.

Colin giggles and Abi urges him to scoot off the bed. "Let's go outside, wee one," she says, holding out her hand. "Duke probably wants to play fetch."

Abi and Colin head through the kitchen and into the mudroom and Emma sits the tank back down on the table before standing. "That sounded like Ruby's car. We should get everything moved outside and go say hi."

The screen door slams shut and she can here Colin's muffled scream of glee, followed by Abi telling him to slow down.

"Aye, in a moment." Killian chuckles and reaches for her waist, pulling her flush against him. She steadies herself against his chest and licks her lips as she meets his eyes, waiting expectantly.

"I've no clue when we'll be alone next and I don't intend to spend the rest of the evening waiting for a better opportunity to kiss you," he tells her, leaning down to capture her lips in a soft kiss.

She exhales and melts into him, sighs when he pulls back and allows the beat of his heart to pound steadily against her palm, one, two, three times, before she opens her eyes and smiles up at him.

"I guess hiding out in here with you isn't an option, is it?"

He kisses her forehead and nudges her toward the kitchen. "It's an option, darling, but it's hardly polite and certainly not prudent if you intend to keep this between us for a while longer."

She sighs because he's right, and unless she feels like announcing their relationship to everyone present, they'd better get a move on.

Pulling a serving platter from the shelf beside the fridge, she arranges the flat bread on it as he slices it with a pizza cutter. Figuring that now is as good a time as any to sample it; she steals a small piece and closes her eyes as she chews. "Oh my god, what did you put on this? It's amazing!"

"Asiago and artichoke spread, honey-garlic sausage, chopped arugula, and mozzarella," he lists, reaching out to wipe a spot of the creamy spread from her lower lip.

He sucks his thumb into his mouth, tongue swirling to clean it off and she groans, glaring at him. "Really?"

Winking, he reaches for the tray and makes his way across the kitchen to step into a pair of flip flops, and god damn him because he knows exactly the effect he has on her.

"Coming, darling?" he asks, waiting at the door, and she quickly grabs the chips and bowls from the table, holding her drink with her free hand while she struggles to shove her feet into her boots.

He holds the door open for her, and then follows her down the steps and over to the table where her mother meets them and takes the bowls from her arms. Victor gets the cooler from the porch and brings it down to the yard, and while Emma organizes the snacks on the picnic table, Killian runs back inside with Will to grab the fold out table and chairs.

Somewhere between hugging her friends and making sure everyone has something to drink, Sean and Ashley arrive with Alexa and the process begins all over again. The kids play with Duke on the lawn, kicking around and chasing several colourful balloons that she doesn't remember buying, let alone blowing up, and everyone else stands or sits around the tables, chatting and devouring Killian's flat bread.

When Killian heads inside to retrieve the burgers and hotdogs, she follows him in to get the corn, asking Belle to accompany her and help with carrying things. It's a bit of a juggling act, but with Killian holding the meat and the door, Emma clutching the heavy tub filled with corn, and Belle balancing the buns, tongs and a tray, they manage to get the essentials outside in one trip. They'll have to run back in for plates, cutlery, burger fixings, and the pasta salad, but that can wait a while longer.

David keeps Killian company as he barbeques and Emma places the un-husked corn on the grill over the dwindling campfire, rotating them as necessary while she catches up with Belle and Ruby. Sean, Victor, and Will mess around with the kid sized basketball net, and Ashley seems to be immersed in an animated conversation with Abi and Mary Margaret.

Assigning seats while wrangling the kids is chaos, and now that she actually wants to sit next to Killian, she ends up seated between Abi and Ashley at the opposite end of the table from him. It's probably for the best though, because she's still shadowed by this almost constant urge to touch him and she's pretty sure she'd end up not so discreetly reaching for his hand or his thigh beneath the table.

Dinner is simple and delicious and it's wonderful to have the people she cares about most in this world all gathered together for a meal beneath the bright blue sky. They all eat off of paper plates and afterwards they get tossed into the smoking fire pit to burn.

At Ruby's insistence, Victor helps Killian carry the remaining dishes inside, and when they return, Killian informs everyone that dessert is warming in the oven and that it will be ready soon along with coffee and tea if anyone is so inclined.

Colin and Alexa refuse to sit still any longer, growing restless at the table, so Mary Margaret releases them to sit in the grass with brightly coloured construction paper and crayons.

Conversation continues throughout dessert and there's talk of Ashley and Sean placing an offer on a house just down the street from Ruby. Belle announces that funding has come through to complete renovations and update the rarely used second floor of the library, and Victor tells them about his upcoming obstetrics residency in the fall.

With the campfire grill moved over next to the barbeque, the corn husks get dumped into the fire pit and Killian uses the large tub to gather the coffee mugs and dishes. As she helps him clear the tables, everyone slowly relocates to the fire, taking seats on the benches and in fold-out camp chairs. Will and Victor quickly get the flames going again, and when Abi offers to come in and help with the dishes, Killian promptly declines, insisting that she grab a seat and enjoy the remainder of the evening sun.

Emma leads the way to the house and holds the door open for him, bunched up tablecloths beneath her arm, empty beer cans in the grocery bag hanging from her wrist.

"I can clean these up if you want to head over to the barn and do night check," Killian offers.

Stacking the empties back in the case, she shakes her head. "Dad's taking care of the horses tonight, I'll help you in here, it won't take that long."

He pauses and likely considers protesting, is probably going to insist that she go back outside and spend time with her friends, but after a moment he seems to think better of it. "Wash or dry?" he asks, sitting the tub next to the sink.

"I'll dry." She drapes the tablecloths over the back of a chair and reaches for a dishtowel. "Alexa and Colin seem to get on well," she notes, pulling the drying rack from the cupboard.

"Aye, Abi tells me that he's quite the little charmer at daycare, all the lasses love him."

"Must run in the family." She bumps her hip softly against his as he adds dish soap to the running water.

"Liam was always better with the ladies than I," Killian insists, carefully settling the mugs in the sink. "I was awkward and skinny and could hardly speak to a lass without blushing until I was nearly 22. I'm sure if you ask Abigail she'll gladly e-mail pictures that prove it – I know she kept all of the photo albums."

Emma laughs and reaches for a mug to dry. "I find it hard to believe that _this_," she makes a sweeping gesture to encompass his entire being, "was ever awkward. I mean, and I say this at the risk of unnecessarily inflating your ego, have you seen yourself?"

Chuckling, Killian flicks soapy water at her. "Darling, I had braces until I was 19. To this day I still haven't a bloody clue how Liam managed to afford them, but when you've got a mouth full of metal for most of your teenage years, it severely diminishes your self-confidence."

Wiping the water droplets from her chest, she winds up the towel and flicks it at him, catching him in the ass with a sharp snap.

The instant she does it she knows she's going to regret it and a look up at his face confirms it.

He growls and drops the dishcloth back into the sudsy water, a predatory gleam in his eyes and a feral grin on his lips.

"Oh shit."

_She's in trouble._

In less than a heartbeat he has he pinned against the fridge door and is scraping his beard against her neck as he tickles her relentlessly, wet hands beneath her shirt, fingers poking at her stomach and ribs and she's breathless, screeching quietly, laughing so hard that the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor is the weight of his body pressing her into the cold metal at her back.

"God, Killiaaaaaaan, st-st-sto-stop – tic-tickling – meeeeee," she stutters out between gasping breaths of laughter, clinging to him even as she attempts to squirm away. Several magnets and the miniature whiteboard clatter to the ground but she hardly notices, too busy alternating between half-hearted shoves at his chest and sharp pokes to his sides, hoping and failing to find a ticklish spot that'll fend him off long enough for her to catch her breath.

When he finally relents, stilling his hands on her hips beneath the hem of her shirt, she has mirthful tears streaming down her cheeks and her chest is still shaking with laughter. "You," she pokes him dead centre in the chest, "are an ass."

"Aye, I might be," he nods his head and brings a hand up to cup her cheek, brushing the tears away, "but I'm yours."

The laughter dies instantly on her lips because he's looking at her like she's something to be cherished, something precious, and she's as much his as he is hers, but she's not quite sure how to put that into words so instead she just kisses him, hoping he understands.

After a moment he pulls back slightly and rests his forehead against hers, smiling through a sigh, thumb dragging along her collarbone, more soothing than teasing. "We really should finish those dishes, darling."

"Soon," she whispers, not quite ready to release him. "I just want to stay right here with you for a minute longer."

She leans in to kiss him again, tucking her fingers into the waistband of his shorts, against the heat of his lower back, pulling him into her, solid and warm. His fingers find their way under her shirt again, far from ticklish this time as they trace the cup of her bra, hand palming the weight of her breast, a gentle but intentional caress.

"Hey guys, I just need to use the – HOLY SHIT! OHMYGOD I KNEW IT!" Ruby screams, standing in the kitchen doorway.

Killian notices a split second before she does and drops his hands, trying to step back, but her hands are still hooked in his shorts so he doesn't manage to put much of any distance between them and really, what's the point? Ruby's obviously seen enough for it to be unmistakable.

"HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON? GUUUUYS THIS IS AMAZING!" Ruby continues, before finally lowering her voice, "I'm so happy for you – Wait... am I the first person to know? I am aren't I? Oh god, you're gonna make me keep this a secret aren't you?"

"It's uh not what- we're not-" Kilian starts, trying to cover, play it off as something it's clearly not and Emma just laughs, releases him, and smoothes a hand over his chest. "It's all right, Killian. Yes, Ruby, we're together, but it's new and we haven't told anyone yet so you have to keep quiet until we do, okay? Please?"

Ruby just sits her beer on the table and rushes forward to hug them quickly. "Guuuuuuys, seriously though, this is just the best. Can I tell Belle? Please? I can't be the only one to know, that's so not fair. Just her, you know she can keep a secret, we won't tell anyone else!"

"Tell me what?" Belle asks as she walks into the kitchen.

"Oh bloody hell," Killian mutters and Belle takes one look at the group of them, eyes drawn to where Emma's hand still rests against Killian's chest, and a huge smile spreads across her face. "It's about time!" she cheers.

Emma groans. "Are you happy now, Ruby? Belle knows, you know, now you both have to keep quiet until we get around to telling my parents?"

"You haven't told them yet?" Belle asks.

"How long has this been going on exactly?" Ruby asks again.

Emma exchanges a look with Killian and he nods, indicating that she should answer.

"No, we haven't told them yet. It's only been a few days, kind of, I guess. I mean it's been longer, but not really, it was complicated."

"And now it's not?" Belle questions. "What changed?"

"Perhaps we should finish those dishes now?" Killian suggests, attempting to shift the conversation while scratching at the back of his neck.

"You didn't seem to be in any hurry to clean up when I walked in," Ruby teases.

"Guys, we'll talk later," Emma promises. "Didn't you need to use the bathroom, Ruby?" she adds pointedly.

Holding up her hands defensively, Ruby grins. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going."

Belle lingers in the kitchen and smiles knowingly. "I just came in to see if you guys needed any help with the dishes. You were taking a while and we wanted to start a game of charades before it gets dark," she tells them, grabbing a second dishtowel. "Good thing I did or we might've been waiting all night."

Because she can, Emma places one last chaste kiss against Killian's lips before turning him back toward the sink with a gentle shove and picking up her discarded dishtowel. "How long have we been in here?" she asks Belle.

"About ten minutes."

Emma looks at the lone coffee mug they managed to get washed and bursts into laughter.

It really is a good thing her friends interrupted when they did. Who knows how long it would have taken her and Killian to finish the dishes otherwise. She hadn't anticipated any one finding out this soon and certainly not by accident, but somehow having her friends know is actually a relief, even if it means putting up with their nosy questions.

Ruby returns from the bathroom and Emma hands her the dishtowel, moving to put away the already dry dishes.

"Sooooo..." Ruby drawls and Emma can tell by the tone of her voice that she's not going to drop the subject easily. "Have you guy been out on a date or have you and Killian just been sneaking around behind your parent's backs? Probably pretty hard to find much alone time, right?" she continues, "Oh! But you were just up at the tepees! Anything scandalous happen?"

Killian looks a little like he hopes the floor would open up and swallow him whole, Belle is struggling to keep a straight face, and Emma just rolls her eyes because she's not at all surprised that Ruby's line of questioning took all of four short sentences to reach sex.

"We are not discussing _that_, Ruby," Emma informs her friend firmly. Killian certainly didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable the other morning up at the tepees, but she gets the feeling that he prefers to keep the private stuff private, and Ruby really does have zero boundaries.

"Okay, okay, fiiiiine. I assume that's a no to the date then?"

Emma sorts the cutlery and places it back in the drawer. "He says Sunday, but he won't tell me where we're going or what we're doing," she complains, mock glaring at Killian across the kitchen.

"That's because it's supposed to be a surprise, love."

"Uh oh, Emma hates surprises," Belle warns.

"It's just... in my experience they tend to be at best; a disappointment, and at worst; a total disaster," Emma explains somewhat defensively.

"I promise this will be neither a disappointment nor a disaster. Have a little faith in me, darling," he requests as he drains the sink. "Have I let you down yet?"

He hasn't and they both know it. "Fine, but if it's a disaster, Belle and Ruby are going to hear all about it and they'll never let you live it down."

"It won't be."

"You sound pretty sure of yourself there, mister."

"Oh I am. I know you and I know what you like."

Emma scoffs, but she knows he's right. She might not like surprises, but she trusts him and she can safely expect to have a great time doing whatever it is that he has planned.

"You guys are adorable," Ruby comments, hip propped against the counter, regarding them with the expression she usually reserves for baby animals.

Belle nods in agreement. "We really should get back outside now though."

"You guys want us to go out first? Give you lovers a moment of privacy?" Ruby needles, winking and nudging Killian in the arm.

Killian shakes his head and motions for them to precede him to the door. "I think we'll be all right."

"Might want to pick the magnets and whiteboard up off the floor first," Belle reminds them and Ruby starts laughing as she grabs Belle's arm and drags her out the door.

Killian bends to retrieve the fallen objects from the floor so he can stick them back on the fridge and then turns to her, taking her hand. "You all right with them knowing, love? I'm afraid we got a little carried away. Hadn't even crossed my mind that anyone could've walked in; seems I lose myself a little where you're concerned."

Squeezing his hand, she tugs him toward the door. "I know the feeling. And I'm actually a relieved that someone knows. Glad it wasn't my father that walked in though."

"Aye, might not have appreciated me groping his daughter whilst pinning her to the refrigerator," he jokes.

"Yeah, let's avoid having him find out that way. I'll be really sad if you happen to die in a mysterious but unfortunate accident before I have a chance to see what's under those pants." She can't resist hooking two fingers in the waistband of his shorts, just behind the button, hot skin and coarse hair brushing against her knuckles.

Killian growls; a low, quiet, almost animalistic thing that rumbles all the way down his chest and into her finger tips.

"Darling," he says in warning, "unless you want everyone here to know the exact nature of our relationship in what would likely be unfortunately graphic detail, I suggest that you move your hand, turn around, and walk out that bloody door within the next five seconds."

She gulps and removes her hand from his pants, heat blossoming in a rush of arousal so fierce that for a split second she actually considers taking him up on his threat. Common sense kicks in though and she's barely got her boots on before she's half stumbling out the door.

He follows her less than ten seconds later and when they take a seat in the two remaining lawn chairs (conveniently located right next to each other), Ruby is discretely mouthing "details" while Belle make a valiant effort to stifle a laugh.

They play charades until the sun sets and it gets too dark to properly see, dividing teams so that it's girls against guys, and Emma doesn't think she's ever laughed as hard as she does when Killian has to act out a hen laying an egg. Her father putting on a slightly disturbing approximation of pole dancing comes a very close second though.

The ladies win by a landslide and the guys complain, blaming Sean and Victor's terrible acting skills for their loss.

Alexa and Colin grow tired and cranky as the sky turns dark, and Ashley and Sean say their farewells so they can head home for the night. Abi takes Colin up to the apartment to put him to bed, and while she's gone, Ruby and Belle convince Victor and Will to set up their tent.

Killian throws several more logs on the fire and Emma fetches more drinks for the group, pleasantly warm and just bordering on the edge of tipsy as she settles heavily back down in her chair and hands Killian a Guinness.

"Thank you, love."

"Mmm, you're welcome," she mumbles, tugging on her flannel and cracking open her cider to take a sip.

She's a little bit tired and a little bit drunk, but mostly just extremely content and she wishes she could snuggle up with him, take a seat in his lap and feel the heat of him against her back, the weight of his arms around her waist. At the very least she'd like to reach out and take his hand, but her parents are still sitting at the fire so she contents herself with the knowledge that they will likely go to sleep ahead of everyone else and that she'll be able to kiss Killian goodnight before bed.

In the dim light between the porch and the bonfire she can just make out Victor and Will as they attempt to set up the large tent, Will complaining the entire time that they should have done it earlier when they could bloody well see what they're doing. They succeed eventually and rejoin the group, still badgering each other as they take their seats.

Quiet conversation resumes easily and Emma slumps slightly in her chair, tilting her head back so she can look at the stars. They aren't quite as spectacular here as they are up at the tepees, but they're still quite beautiful and as she watches the obsidian sky, she attempts to remember the constellations that she knew so well as a child. She can still locate Ursa Major and Cassiopeia at a glance, Cygnus if she looks for long enough, but many of the others have mostly faded from memory and she can't be bothered racking her brain or straining her eyes in search of them.

A shooting star streaks across the night sky and she closes her eyes in a silent wish. She's observed the silly little tradition for as long as she can remember, and as a child she used to wish for material things, like that bejewelled jean-jacket on display in a window on main street that she coveted for three long months leading up to her ninth birthday.

Now though, she just closes her eyes and hopes for happiness, in whatever form it might find her.

Killian groans, sounding vexed and she sits up in her chair, refocusing her attentions on the group. Abi has returned, carrying what looks like a guitar case and Killian scrubs his hand over his face before running it up through his hair. "I'll have you know you dragged that all the way out here for nothing," he tells Abi with a scowl. "I'm not playing it."

"Oh come on, don't be such a sourpuss. All I'm asking for is one little song. Please?"

"Bloody hell, Abigail. Fine. One song," he grumbles, reluctantly reaching for the case.

"You play guitar?" Ruby gushes. Then she elbows Victor sharply in the side. "Why can't you do something cool like that?"

"What? Me becoming a doctor isn't good enough for you?" Victor teases. "I need to become a musician as well?"

Ruby and Victor continue bickering quietly, but Emma turns her attention away from them and toward Killian, taking note of the ease with which he opens the case and situates the guitar on his lap. She knows he has an amazing singing voice, she's heard him singing along with the radio often enough, but she had no clue that he played the guitar as well and that he actually had one tucked away up in the apartment.

He plays a few hesitant chords, warming up, obviously not used to performing for a group. "You're not liable to take no for an answer, are you?" he asks Abi, fingers ghosting lightly over the strings as he makes one last attempt to get out of it.

"Not a chance in hell, brother."

Killian frowns again and Emma reaches out to squeeze his arm. "Pleeeaaaase?" She pouts, knowing the effect she has on him.

Ruby and Belle join in with their own pleas and soon everyone is encouraging him to play.

"Oh all right," he agrees. "Bloody determined lot you all are."

Ruby whoops loudly and Abi whistles, cheering as she takes her seat.

They all grow quiet and when he starts playing, Emma instantly recognises the song as Matchbox 20's _3am_. She's a little bit mesmerised by the deft movement of his fingers against the strings of the guitar, and when he takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to sing, she gets goose bumps, twisting her hands around the drink in her grasp.

"She said it's cold outside and she hands me my rain coat. She's always worried about things like that."

He continues strumming; eyes focused more on the cracking fire than on anyone surrounding it.

"She said it's all gonna end and it might as well be my fault. And she only sleeps when it's raining. And she screams, and her voice is straining, she says baby. It's 3am I must be lonely."

He looks up then and glances sideways, meeting her eyes for a moment. "When she says baby, well I can't help but be scared of it all sometimes. Says the rain's gonna wash away I believe it."

He returns his gaze to the ground and sings the next verse, and when the chorus comes around again, he insists that they all sing along.

Will and Ruby join in first, not needing much in the way of encouragement and by the time they reach the last chorus, Killian is grinning and everyone is singing along.

Applause breaks out when the song wraps up and Killian tucks the guitar back in the case, glaring good-naturedly at Abi and obviously not really irritated at all.

"Nooo! Don't put it awaaaay!" Ruby whines and Killian laughs. "If you want another song, you'll have to convince Dave to break out the good bottle of scotch I know he keeps hidden in the cupboard above the fridge."

"It's behind all the cheap stuff," Emma adds.

"Whaddaya say, Dave?" Ruby appeals.

"I'm not sure how you all know where I keep the good scotch, but why the hell not," he acquiesces. "Only two fingers each though."

Ruby and Victor disappear into the house with David to fetch the scotch and enough glass tumblers to go around because her father absolutely refuses to drink the 18 year old single malt Glenfiddich from disposable cups, and really she can't blame him; it's a hundred and twenty dollar bottle of alcohol after all.

Belle and Mary Margaret opt out, but that still leaves seven of them drinking and with the bottle only half full, she's reasonably certain that by the end of the night it'll be empty.

She's correct in her assumption and they spend the next couple hours laughing and singing while Killian plays the guitar.

David is beyond delighted when Killian strums up the first few chords of Journey's _Don't Stop Believin'_ and Victor and Will perform an inspiring duet to Bryan Adam's _Summer of 69_ that has Ruby nearly sliding out of her chair with laughter. Killian sings Free's _All Right Now_ after that, and Emma pulls both Ruby and Belle up to dance, twirling drunkenly, a safe distance from the fire.

Her parents decide to head to bed when David realises that it's after 11 o'clock, and Mary Margaret offers to look in on Colin quickly for Abi.

When they leave, Killian request that the lasses take a turn singing and after downing her second helping of scotch, Emma stands and tugs Ruby up to sing with her. "Do you know _Hot Blooded_ by Foreigner?" she asks Killian. He nods his head, raising an eyebrow in a challenge as he hammers out the first several seconds of the song on the guitar. "You sure that's a wise choice, love?" he taunts.

"Oh, I'm all in," she declares, rotating her shoulders and picking up her empty cider can to use as a pretend microphone. And maybe she's more than a little drunk because she takes a step toward him and leans her empty hand against the arm of his camp chair, getting in his face. "What's the matter? Afraid you can't handle it?"

"Perhaps you're the one who can't handle it," he retorts, gaze heated, holding her own for a second before flickering down to her lips and then back up. And god she needs to take a step back before she tosses the guitar aside, climbs into his lap, and does something that would be considered terribly indecent in front of company.

Ruby clears her throat obnoxiously and Emma finally manages to get her body in sync with her mind, taking a deliberate step backwards and composing herself before nodding that she's ready.

Killian starts playing and Emma tries to remain facing Ruby as she sings, she really does, but that lasts all of about thirty seconds, because somehow her eyes are on Killian again as she sings "you don't have to read my mind, to know what I have in mind," and she falters for a second, forgetting the next line as he tongues the backs of his teeth, eyes smiling, and it's not hard to believe that he really does know exactly what she has in mind.

She almost caves then and considers sitting back down and shutting up before she gets herself into any more trouble, but she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction, so she pulls herself together and pushes through the rest of the song, steadfastly holding eye contact with Ruby until she can safely collapse in a breathless heap in her chair.

They have to look up the chords and lyrics for some of them, but they end up working their way through Tom Petty's _Free Fallin'_, Oasis's _Wonderwall_, and R.E.M.'s _Man on the Moon_, before finally ending the night with an empty bottle of scotch, a fire pit filled with barely glowing embers, and 4 Non Blondes' _What's Up_.

Abi heads up to the apartment, yawning and dragging her feet, and Belle and Ruby run inside to use the bathroom quickly before crawling into the tent with Will and Victor. Killian dumps a bucket of water from the hose on the coals, hoists the guitar case in one hand, and helps her carry the glasses into kitchen with the other. She stumbles into the living room with him, leaning against his side, a little unsure on her feet, exhausted and trying to come up with one good reason why she shouldn't just curl up in his arms and sleep with him on the pull-out couch.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and she must still have some sort of sense swimming around her sleepy, scotch-filled brain, because she remains standing between his legs, knowing that if she even thinks about sitting down, her parents are guaranteed to find her sprawled on top of him in the morning.

He doesn't make it easy for her though. He wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face against her stomach in a sloppy embrace that has her aching in more ways than one, because the prickle of his stubble through the thin fabric of her shirt has nerve endings firing in quick succession, but then he looks up at her through heavily lidded eyes, his gaze sweet and sleepy and so filled with pure adoration that all she can do is comb a hand through his hair and hold him tighter.

She stands there with him for a moment, fingers playing at the back of his neck, beneath the collar of his shirt until she's worried she might actually fall sleep standing up.

"Killian?" she whispers, swaying gently on the spot.

"Yes, my love?" It's spoken softly against her sternum as he straightens his spine and nuzzles against the fabric between her breasts.

"I need to sleep."

"I'm not stopping you." He doesn't look up or even open his eyes.

She considers of the circle of his arms around her hips, the way the thumb of his right hand hooks into the back pocket of her shorts, anchoring her there, and she laughs. "You kind of are."

He blinks his eyes open slowly, looks up at her, and makes a conscious effort to release her, dropping his hands to his sides. She misses the contact instantly. "I can apologise," he offers through a yawn, "but we both know it'd be a lie."

Taking a small step back, she settles her hands on his shoulders and bends to kiss him goodnight, forcing herself to keep it short, pulling away when his hands rise to her hips. "Sleep well," she bids quietly once she reaches the hallway.

"You too, darling," he murmurs, already working his way beneath the covers.

A silent siren song lures her to her bed like a sailor to rocky shores and she's asleep the second her head hits the pillow.

* * *

She wakes on her own to a quiet house, a little bit hung-over and a lot confused because the lighting in her room is all wrong and her phone isn't blaring obnoxiously in an attempt to rouse her. She blindly searches her bedside table, swearing that she left her cell there last night, but all she finds is a piece of paper.

It takes a second for her vision to clear so that she can make out the words, but she recognises her mother's handwriting almost instantly.

_**Thought you might like to sleep in. Dismissed your alarm and left your phone on the kitchen table. Your father and I are doing the barn chores this morning. **_

She rises unhurriedly, still dressed in last night's tank top, her shorts and bra flung across the room in a move she doesn't really remember making. Any thought of showering is quickly overrun by her desire for coffee, so she pulls on a pair of pyjama pants and quickly brushes her teeth before leaving the room.

The bed in the living room is rumpled but empty, and she finds Killian in the kitchen, head in his hands as he leans his elbows against the counter, intently focused on the percolating coffee. His phone sits next to hers on the table and it's obvious her parents allowed him to sleep in as well.

Joining him at the counter, she mirrors his position, having a hard time believing that they both slept until almost 10. "Please tell me the coffee is almost ready?"

He chuckles and turns his head so that he can press his lips to her bare shoulder. "A few more minutes, but I can pause it and pour you a cup if you don't think you'll make it that long."

A look out the window confirms that her friends are likely still sound asleep in the tent, so she bumps her hip against his and tosses him a sly half-grin. "Distract me while we wait?" she requests.

His smile turns cheeky in an instant. "And how might you suggest that I do such a thing?" he asks, straightening and shifting to face her. "Perhaps I should tickle you again?"

"Don't you dare!" she squeaks, taking a step backward but she's not fast enough and he's got his arms around her waist before she can even contemplate her retreat. She squirms against him but he doesn't actually tickle her, just hugs her and when she realizes it, she stops pushing against his chest and winds her arms around his neck.

"Hi."

"Hello, love." Killian chuckles and pulls her more snuggly against him, his hands drifting down to cup her ass. He bows his head and drops his lips to her collarbone, kissing his way up her neck, beard scraping and breath hot. "Are you finding this sufficiently distracting?" he asks, voice rumbling against her jaw.

She's got her head tilted to the side, giving him access, focused on absolutely nothing but the way his teeth scrape teasingly against the sensitive flesh just below her ear and _fuck_ – he curls his fingers around the back of her thigh to the inside, just inches below where she wants him and asks again. "Huh?" She tries to focus. The answer is obviously yes, but what was he distracting her from?

The coffee maker beeps loudly and the metaphorical light bulb flickers on – oh, right, that.

He pulls back, obviously intending to make a move for the coffee but she stops him, fisting a hand in his shirt. "Coffee can wait." And then he's lifting her, fingers linked against her ass so he can deposit her on the counter, immediately stepping into the v of her legs, palms hot through the thin cotton covering her thighs when his lips finally meet hers in a kiss that leaves her breathless.

She hooks an ankle around his thigh and tilts her pelvis forward. He growls and rocks his hips, heavy and hard, finding friction between her thighs. "You're a bloody temptress, Emma. Tell me, darling," he whispers against her lips in-between kisses, one hand low on her back, the other flirting with the hem of her shirt, pushing it up, "if I were to take you right here on the counter, how long do you think it might be until you could stand in this kitchen and actually look your parents in the eye?"

She sucks in a breath. "Why don't we find out?" It's a challenge she knows he won't take, but she says it anyway, simply because the sight of his pupils expanding as his expression grows dark is one she won't soon forget.

He exhales sharply as she hooks her other leg around him and crosses her ankles below his ass, dragging two fingers down past his belly button to just shy of where he's pressed intimately against her.

"Careful, love," he warns.

She stills her fingers over the cotton of his shirt and drums the tips against the tense muscles beneath, grinning. "Or what?"

She doesn't get to find out because heavy footfalls sound on the porch steps and he's pulling away quickly and moving to the sink, reaching between his legs to adjust himself as he faces the counter and attempts to look busy by washing last night's scotch glasses. She hops off the counter and straightens her shirt, grabbing coffee mugs and praying that she's got enough of a tan to hide the blush currently clawing its way hotly up her chest and into her cheeks. Though she should probably be more worried about the fact that she didn't bother putting a bra on this morning and that her nipples are still enthusiastically straining against the thin cotton of her tank top. _Fuck_. She makes a point of not turning anything more than her head when her father walks into the kitchen.

"Oh good, you two are awake," her father observes as he ducks his head and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. He takes a sip and turns to address Killian. "Abi's up and was wondering if you'd be able to take them into town after lunch to do some souvenir shopping. I'll help Emma with the trail rides this afternoon," David adds when Killian hesitates. "You should spend as much time as you can with them today."

"Thanks, Dave," Killian says, managing to sound totally normal and sincere and not at all like he was in a rather comprising situation with the man's daughter less than a minute ago.

"You should wake your friends up, Peanut," her father suggests, "see if they want some breakfast."

She nods. "I will."

Her father disappears back outside quickly, and after a few seconds of silent eye contact with Killian, she bursts out laughing. "Oh god, that was way too close!"

He nods in agreement. "Perhaps we should save ourselves the trouble of what would surely be a rather unfortunate conversation and refrain from doing anything unseemly where we're likely to be caught?"

"Yeaaaah," she sighs. It takes the fun out of things, but it's probably the intelligent thing to do. "You want to get started on breakfast while I go kick the tent and try to wake those guys up?"

"Pancakes?"

"With chocolate chips?"

"Of course."

She heads outside to wake her friends up and finds Belle already awake, standing in the doorway of the tent, trying to rouse the other three. Emma ends up calling Colin and Duke over to stumble through the tent, stepping on legs and arms and eliciting a chorus of displeased groans, but eventually the group makes it inside where they feast on banana chocolate chip pancakes and drink their way through two pots of coffee.

After packing up the tent, her friends all wish Abi and Colin a safe flight home before piling into Ruby's car and heading up the driveway. Killian heads into town with Colin and Abi, and Emma spends the afternoon leading trail rides with her father. Mary Margaret throws together an elaborate dinner and in the evening they all eat together, cozied around the kitchen table.

It's nearly 8 o'clock when the time comes for Colin and Abi to leave. Emma fully intends to remain behind while Killian drives them to the airport, but Abi insists that she come along for the drive and she gladly agrees, wondering if just maybe Abi is also a little concerned about Killian being alone after they depart.

The roads are quiet on the way to the airport and they make good time. Killian insists on paying the ridiculous parking fees even though Emma offers to drop them off and just drive around until he's ready to leave. She waits with him off to the side while Abi and Colin line up to check in and check their luggage, and afterwards they all walk to the security checkpoint to say goodbye.

Emma balances a sleepy Colin on her hip so that Killian and Abi can say their goodbyes uninterrupted, smiling when the boy gently grasps a fistful of her hair and nuzzles his face into her neck. She's going to miss having them around and not just because it means Killian will return to sleeping in the apartment. She's grown incredibly fond of them this last week; Colin's contagious exuberance, as well as Abigail's warm presence and quick wit.

Killian reaches out to take his nephew and Abi pulls Emma aside, just far enough away that Emma's certain Killian would have a hard time making out the conversation over the bustle of airport foot traffic.

"Make sure Killian stays out of trouble," Abi jokes, "and don't hesitate to call or skype any time – Killian can give you my contact info. It's been fabulous getting to know you and I'd love to stay in touch." Abigail pauses for a moment then, seeming to consider something. Her smile disappears and her expression changes drastically, turning solemn and a little bit sad.

"He's been through so much," she starts, taking Emma's hand, "you know that already, but you weren't there, you didn't see it in person. For a while there..." she hesitates again and seems to shift tracks for a moment, "I don't know why, I don't think it's something one can explain or reason out, but he took it harder than I did; Liam's death – and for a while I really didn't know if he was ever going to smile again."

Emma squeezes Abi's hand and watches as she blinks back tears, waiting for her to continue.

"He was a wreck, Emma, and gods... I never want to see him like that again." She sniffles with a small laugh and then smiles. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's been a long time since I've seen him this happy, and I've reason to suspect you've got quite a lot to do with that, so try not to break his heart, aye?"

Emma swallows thickly and nods as Abi pulls her into a hug. "I'll do my best," she whispers into the petite woman's hair, returning the fierce hug.

When Abi pulls back they share a quick laugh and Emma hastily swipes at the tears that threaten to spill over her cheeks.

Killian gives them a concerned look when they rejoin him, but Abigail just waves it off and holds out her arms to take her now sleeping son.

"Let us know when your plane lands and you've made it home," Killian requests.

Abi nods. "Aye, I will." She pulls Killian into a quick one-armed hug before releasing him. "Now don't be strangers; call any time, and if you ever want to, you're more than welcome to come for a visit. Both of you," she stresses as she picks up her carry-on and turns to join the line up for security.

Emma tucks herself into Killian's side in an act of instinctual comfort, and they watch until Abi and Colin disappear out of sight. Turning, she wraps her arms tightly around Killian's waist and presses her nose against the warm skin of his neck, breathing deep. He still smells a little bit like last night's campfire, and there's something else there too, something that she can't quite name, but it's a lot like home and comfort and everything she's ever wanted.

"You all right, love?" Killian asks, sounding concerned, hugging her back and kissing the top of her head.

She nods silently, more than a little bit overwhelmed by the sudden realization of just how much she loves him.

_She loves him. _

It's a certainty she can no longer escape. There's no other way around it and if she's being honest, somewhere deep down, she's known it for quite a while.

She's not ready to tell him yet though, because just admitting it to herself is a big enough hurdle to overcome at the moment, and despite the magnitude of that self-revelation, she's mostly just wondering how the hell Abi figured them out.

"Did you tell Abi about us?" she asks, looking up at him and making sure that her voice remains level. She's not upset, and she won't be angry if he did, but she still wants to know.

Killian chuckles. "Not a word, love, I swear it. I'm not surprised she figured it out though; she's always been good at picking up on what people try to keep hidden. Liam told me that's why he fell in love with her – liked having someone other than his baby bother who'd call him out on his bullshit." He pauses and drags his fingers through her hair, studying her closely, and the intensity of his gaze almost has her looking away. "Before she pulled you aside she told me that if I let you get away, she'd fly all the bloody way back here just to smack me up the side of my daft head."

His fingers still in her hair and he seems to be waiting to see how she'll react.

"She asked me not to break your heart," Emma says quickly before she can second-guess herself, looking at the polished concrete floor, focusing on the glow of florescent lights reflected in its smooth surface. Focusing on that instead of his face, because this is serious and she's wading into uncharted waters here, not quite certain what might lurk beyond.

But Killian just exhales lightly, presses a kiss to her forehead, and continues hugging her. "I'll gladly second that sentiment, love."

She doesn't reply – she doesn't know what she's supposed to say to that, because it's one thing to tell Abigail that she'll try not to break his heart, but it's another thing entirely to make him the same promise.

A moment passes and still he stands there, arms wrapped around her as the crowd moves about, coming and going, sharing their own private moments within the busy sea of people. When Killian yawns, she finally pulls back and takes his hand. "We should get going," she suggests. "It's already going to be well after midnight by the time we get home."

He nods, seemingly lost in thought and she hopes her lack of a response isn't to blame for his sudden silence. He yawns several more times on the walk back to the parking lot and when they arrive at the jeep, she reaches into his pocket and pulls out the keys. "I'll drive. You look like you're already half asleep."

"Thanks, love," he says, releasing her hand and moving around to the passenger side. He's quiet as she adjusts the seat and the mirrors, and his gaze remains fixed on the dark window as she merges onto the highway leading out of the city.

He doesn't seem mad and she doesn't think he's upset with her, he's just unnaturally quiet and a little distant, but she can't read his mind and she doesn't have his uncanny knack for reading subtle facial cues and micro-expressions, so unless she actually comes right out and asks, she's likely not going to receive an answer.

Taking the wheel in her left hand, she reaches out with her right, her fingers coming into contact with his where they rest on his thigh. "Did I do something wrong?" she asks tentatively, risking a quick glance his way.

Almost immediately he lifts her hand and brings it to his lips. "Not at all, love. I'm just..." he drops their hands back to his lap and sighs, reaching into his pocket with his free hand and pulling out a piece of bright yellow construction paper. He awkwardly unfolds it and smoothes it out against his leg. "Colin gave this to me earlier. Abi tells me he drew it last night while we were all eating dessert. Don't worry about looking now, love," he insists when she glances over in curiosity, "you can see it when we get home. It's more scribbles than anything really, but the one blob is supposed to be me, and the smiling one on top of my shoulders is Colin."

He attempts to smile but it comes out this wavering little thing and she squeezes his hand, silently urging him to continue.

"He handed it to me, so proud, and gave me the biggest hug." The tenor of his voice changes and something about it tugs at her heart. She's tempted to pull the car over, find a safe spot on the side of the road and pay this conversation the attention it deserves, but instead she just tightens her fingers around his and listens. "There's another big red scribble around it all and I think it's safe to assume it's supposed to be a heart," he tells her.

Carefully he folds the paper and slips it back into his pocket before speaking again. "Sometimes I worry that when he gets older, he'll no longer see me as he does now. I'll not be Uncle Killy who gives piggy-back rides and buys him ice cream, but instead I'll just be the man who couldn't save his father." Emma's heart constricts at the words and she blinks as tears threaten to blur her vision. "I'm terrified, Emma – terrified that one day he'll wake up and he'll hate me."

This time she actually does pull the car over, thankful that the highway is quiet as she signals and comes to a stop on the shoulder, shifting into park and flipping on the emergency flashers.

He's so good at appearing fine that sometimes she forgets that he's just as damaged as she is, probably even more so; broken in his own unique way, a road map of cracks and pieces, different but the same.

She turns in her seat to face him and reaches a hand up to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "You know it wasn't your fault, right?"

He tries to avoid her eyes and she tilts his head up again. "Please tell me you know that, Killian? You did everything you could. No one blames you."

He scoffs and wipes quickly at his eyes, glossy in the dim glow streaming from a streetlight several meters down the road. "Aye, logically perhaps. Doesn't change the fact that he's dead and there are times where all I can think is what if I'd being paying more attention? What if I'd managed to push him out of the way? What if I'd pulled him out of the water ten seconds sooner? What if it had been me instead of him? Would he have been able to save me? At least I wouldn't have left behind a family."

"Hey, hey," she says, tugging him awkwardly closer and pulling him into a hug, stroking her fingers over the back of his neck. "Stop that, okay?" she whispers forcefully against his ear. "Listen to me. It was not your fault and always asking yourself 'what if?' is a terrible way to go through life, Killian. I didn't know him, but I'm pretty sure Liam wouldn't want that. _I don't want that. _So stop blaming yourself, okay?"

It takes a moment and he doesn't rush to pull back, but eventually he nods his head and says "okay". She's not sure if he actually believes her, if he actually believes himself, but the small smile he gives her looks a little less pained and when he thanks her, she can hear the sincerity in every syllable that passes through his lips before he kisses her.

Once they're back on the road he falls asleep within minutes, twisted slightly to face her, never letting go of her hand. He's still bent that way when they arrive at home and she pulls the jeep into the garage.

Ever so gently she combs her fingers through his hair, waking him slowly, so filled with love and affection for this man that she hardly knows what to do with herself. It's after midnight and the house is dark, her parent's long gone to bed and she doesn't think twice before following him upstairs to the apartment. She'll wake up extra early if she has to, but she's not leaving him alone tonight. She can't and she won't.

Most of his belongings are still in his bag over at the house, but he has extra toothbrushes under the sink and she stands next to him in the small bathroom as they brush their teeth, leaning heavily against the counter. She grabs a cloth from the linen-closet to wash her face, and when she joins Killian next to the bed, he's stepping out of his jeans and draping them over the back of a chair.

He pulls his shirt over his head and hands it to her before crawling into bed, grinning sleepily, and deliberately closing his eyes. She quickly strips to her underwear and slips into his shirt, into his bed, and into his arms, delighting in the solid heat of him – the feel of skin against skin where her cheek rests against his bare shoulder, her fingers twisting in his chest hair as she hooks an ankle over his calf and sighs contently.

His hand curls over her hip, holding her to him as he reaches for his phone and brings up the alarm. "What do you think, love? Quarter to 6? Should be plenty early."

"Mhmm," she agrees sleepily and he presses save before returning the phone to the bedside table and tugging on the chain to turn off the lamp.

Darkness settles over the room, quiet and serene as she whispers goodnight and kisses him softly. His response echoes against her lips and when he falls asleep, so does she, the sound of his heart beating steady in her ear.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Soooo... things happened... The muses decided to take pity on all of you poor souls, and, well, apparently it got a little bit smutty in the first part of the chapter.

* * *

Morning brings with it a sense of déjà vu, and she's pulled from slumber by the feel of Killian pressed against her back, his hand beneath her shirt – well, _his_ shirt if she's getting technical. They're in an actual bed this time though and he's awake – she shifts her hips backwards curiously – _wide awake_, apparently.

"What time is it?" she asks, stretching languidly, enjoying the feel of waking up in his arms; the hairy brush of his legs against the smoothness of her own, and the way his fingers curl over her hip, tracing nonsensical patterns just above the elastic of her underwear.

"Early still – just after five," he tells her, tightening his arm around her waist and hugging her closer.

He's very clearly aroused, unmistakably so. She can feel the evidence of it pressed against the curve of her ass, their respective layers of underwear doing almost nothing to disguise it. He doesn't seem to be in any great hurry to do a damn thing about it though. Instead he just seems perfectly content to lie here with her, his face nuzzled into the hair at the back of her neck.

Wiggling her hips backward, she clenches her thighs together and groans quietly, frustrated by the growing ache between her legs and his stubborn insistence that they wait, because the adorable asshole really is a gentleman and wants to properly court her first.

She shifts a little more fully into him, rocking her hips slowly, hell bent on ensuring that he's as equally worked up as she is. Her actions draw the smallest noise from the back of his throat, so quiet that it gets lost in the tangle of her hair and she's not sure she didn't just imagine it altogether.

He might be okay with ignoring it, but she's not so sure that she can do the same, so she turns in his arms to face him.

"Five o'clock," she repeats the time against his jaw. "I guess that means we don't have to get up just yet." She trails the words down his neck on her lips and throws a leg over his thigh, opening herself to him, wanting more, because god, sleeping in his bed with hardly any clothes on was probably a really stupid idea.

He chuckles warmly against the top of her head and his fingers resume their maddening brush against her hip, toying lightly with the elastic waistband of her underwear. "I hadn't planned on it, no."

She presses her nose into his skin and bites down gently, teeth scraping over his collarbone before she looks up to meet his eyes while she drags the fingers of her left hand down through his chest hair and over his stomach to where the cotton of his boxers rest low on his hips. "And what exactly were you planning to do while you stayed in bed?" she asks, fingers slipping just beneath the elastic at his hip, teasing.

His eyes are dark and wide in the grey morning light that peeks through the gap in the curtains, and he watches her, fingers tight on her hip now as his tongue darts out to the corner of his mouth and he bites his lip. "Probably not what you're hoping for, darling," he grumbles, even as his hips betray him and he rocks into the space between her legs with a low groan. "I meant what I said: I intend to take you on a couple dates first, Emma."

"You said..." he tilts his hips again and she grabs hold of his arm, almost forgetting what she was going to say. "Before... you said three dates, but now... you said two." She grins at him. "Does this mean there's room for negotiation?"

"Possibly," he growls when she moves her hand back up his chest and drags her nails over his nipple. "Bloody hell, love, I'm not a saint and you seem utterly determined to test my resolve."

She giggles and nods. "So... maybe after one date?" she asks, getting her hopes up.

"Not a chance, darling." He shakes his head even as his hand climbs beneath her shirt to grasp a breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Huffing in exasperation, she unhooks her leg from around his hip and flops onto her back, wanting to cry or scream or pound her fists into the bed and throw a temper tantrum because she doesn't think she's ever been this sexually frustrated and she wants him so badly that it claws at her nerve endings, numbness and sensation and burning and fire and want and _fuck_.

"You're evil," she whines, glaring at the ceiling because she knows if she even looks at him, she's going to wind up climbing onto his lap and torturing them both some more.

"I'm sorry, love," he whispers quietly.

Risking a glance over at him confirms that he's also lying on his back, but despite the fact that his fingers are almost white where they're clenched in the blankets and he's got what looks like a rather impressive erection tenting the front of his boxers, he's just grinning broadly and she wants to smack him because he is _so_ not sorry.

"You're not sorry at all, are you?"

He starts laughing, his hand coming up to cover his face and she sits up, swings her legs over the side of the bed, and throws a pillow at his head before standing. "I'm using your shower," she informs him as she stomps to the bathroom, not waiting for an answer.

She doesn't bother grabbing a towel or locking the door, she just pulls it shut forcefully and drops her clothing on the floor as she reaches into the shower to turn on the water.

She gets it. She really does. She understands why he doesn't want to take that step yet, but she's more than a little frustrated and all she cares about right now is taking care of the maddening ache between her legs, because if she doesn't, she's not going to get a damn thing done today and there's a very real possibility she might punch the first person to look at her wrong.

She steps into the shower and under the warm spray, sighing as the water soaks into her hair and cascades over her shoulders. She only makes half an attempt to close the frosted glass doors, leaving the far end open several inches, because maybe she's a little bit evil too, and if he happens to hear what she's up to in here, it serves him right, goddamnit.

It's been months since she's had any sort of release and she's not sure she realized how badly she needed it until just now because the first stoke of her fingers between her legs has her hips jumping as she slumps back against the wall for support, biting back a moan and cupping a breast with her other hand.

Closing her eyes, it's not hard to imagine Killian out there on the bed, freeing his cock from the confines of his boxers and seeking out his own release, strong hand grasping himself firmly. She knows he's not as unaffected as he pretends to be and the thought of him listening in while finding his own pleasure spurs her on. She glides her fingers through the slippery arousal at the apex of her thighs, circling her clit as she whimpers and bites her lip, sucking in thick steam from water that's probably a little too hot.

And god, this isn't going to take long because she's wound so tight that the simple brush of her fingers already has her climbing higher, her breath quickening and her hips undulating.

And then she hears the bathroom door creak open and she stills her fingers between her legs, head thumping back against the tile wall.

_Shit. What is he doing?_

She holds her breath and does her best to keep quiet because somehow she didn't see this coming and she remains slumped against the tile, frozen, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

He's doesn't speak though, just stands there and she can make out the dark shape of him through the opaque doors. She knows he must be able to see the blur of her skin through them too, but he still hasn't said a word, so she takes a deep breath, calms herself, and pokes just her head through the opening at the end.

"Killian?"

He's standing there, staring at the floor, still in his boxers and still obviously aroused, and when she calls his name hesitantly, he looks up at her with dark eyes. His fists are clenched at his sides and she can practically hear him grinding his teeth, the muscle in his jaw ticking away.

He takes a deep breath and seems to deflate a little before speaking. "Bloody hell, Emma, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

She laughs because she's trying to figure out how to answer that question while keeping her eyes on his face instead of the bulge in his boxers, but all she can think is that he better either get in here and join her, or leave her alone so she can finish what she started.

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't seriously hoping for the former.

"I'm guessing the fact that you're standing there means you already know the answer," she finally says, slicking back several water droplets from her forehead before they can fall into her eyes.

He practically growls and she makes a split second decision to slide the shower door open and extend her hand. She's dripping water and the cooler air from the bathroom makes her shiver slightly, goose bumps breaking out over her skin, but she just stands there waiting, hoping it doesn't take him too long to make up his mind.

His eyes drop to her breasts the second she does it, and then lower, to the damp curls between her legs, making a slow perusal of her body as he exhales shakily, indecision weighing heavily on his face for a second before meets her eyes and reaches for her hand.

Pulling him into the slightly cramped confines of the shower, she slides the door shut and then backs into the warmth of the spray, dragging him with her. She turns them after a moment, guiding him under the water, smiling at the wet cling of his hair to his forehead. His boxers soak through in an instant, leaving very little to the imagination, and it's a struggle to actually lift her gaze and meet his eyes.

When she does, she's a little bit shocked by the change in his expression. His earlier hunger has faded and he's regarding her now with something akin to wonder, a small smile on his face as he reaches out almost tentatively to cup her cheek, thumb stroking over her bottom lip.

"You're beautiful, darling," he whispers, releasing her hand so that he can rest his fingers on her hip and pull her closer enough to kiss her. And she's glad that he does, because she's never been looked at quite like this before, never been held quite so carefully, and she blinks back sudden tears, hoping that if he notices, she'll simply be able to blame them on the water.

Pressing herself to his chest, wet skin against wet skin, she forgets most of her earlier urgency, allowing herself to get lost in his lips and the patient caress of gentle hands as he explores her body slowly, calloused fingers rekindling her earlier desire, shaping it, changing it from the violent blast of an explosion, to the slow burn of a warm hearth on a cold winter's night.

She touches him too, mapping the muscles of his torso and the strength of his arms, all dark hair and tanned skin, but when she reaches for his boxers, intending to push the sodden material down his legs, he stops her, gently taking her hands in his own.

"Leave them for now," he tells her, and when she nods dumbly, her brain not quite understanding the reasoning behind his request, he releases her hands and kisses her again.

The first glide of his fingers between her legs has her almost sobbing with relief, clinging to him while he explores her slowly, quickly learning what makes her knees threaten to buckle as she hides her face against his neck because it's all too much and just not quite enough.

He curls a finger into her, one, and then another, and she pulls at his hair, probably a little too hard, but he just chuckles and holds her secure against his side with an arm around her waist, thumb circling her clit in a rhythm that has her scrambling for purchase, losing grip, clinging to his arm and his neck and anything she can reach until she's right on the precipice between holding on and letting go.

"I've got you, love," he whispers next to her ear, the rough scratch of his bread along the side of her neck, and then she's falling, silent and open-mouthed, teeth against his shoulder as the world centers between her legs for three quick heartbeats before bursting outward in a kaleidoscope of hazy pleasure.

It's several long seconds before she comes back to herself, and several more after than until she's certain her legs will support her own weight, but she needn't worry because Killian doesn't seem to be in any hurry to release her, and so she stays right where she is, floating in the aftermath of a breathtaking orgasm and trying to figure out what exactly she should say to break the silence.

Turns out she doesn't have to worry about that either because Killian pulls back slightly, presses a kiss to her temple, and says, "you should finish your shower now, love."

That gets a laugh out of her because he's still hard against her hip through the fabric of his underwear, and there's no way in hell she's letting him leave this shower without making sure he receives the same care and attention he just bestowed upon her.

She doesn't give him a much of a chance to protest, and she really doesn't give him any warning at all before slipping her hand past the wet elastic and circling her fingers around his length, silken skin hot against her palm.

The groan he releases into her hair can only be described as guttural, and she delights in it as she backs him up to the tiled wall with her other hand against his chest, mouth on his neck, tongue gathering the droplets of water that bead in the hollow above his collarbone. She strokes him firmly, up and down twice before stilling her fingers and tugging at the elastic of his boxers with her other hand.

"You probably don't need these anymore," she speaks against the underside of his jaw, stubble rough against her lips.

His laugh is strangled. "I suppose not," he says, quickly pushing them from his hips and stepping out of them when they hit the shower floor with a wet flop.

She looks down. How can she not? Her eyes following the trail of dark hair down past his stomach to where he's thick and heavy and waiting in her still grasp.

_God_, she wants him, wants more than this, but it can wait, will have to wait, and not just because she knows he'll insist on it, but also because somewhere in the back of her mind a clock ticks away with the knowledge that they don't have nearly as much time as she'd like before her parents wake up.

So she moves her hand and he thrusts up into her grasp as she drags her eyes up to his face and kisses him, swallowing her own name as it spills from his lips. She feels like she could very easily kiss him for an eternity, but a large part of her wants to watch his face as he comes undone so she pulls back after a minute and brushes the wet hair from his forehead.

God he's beautiful, all dark hair and wide eyes, his breath coming faster now, and his fist gently tangles in her hair as he remains focused on her face, looking at her like there's nothing in this world that matters more and she can't help but wonder if it's like this now, when it's just her touching him, what's it going to be like when he's actually inside her?

A shudder runs through her at the thought and his hand tightens against her back, holding her close, pressing her to his hip as she increases the tempo of her strokes. He says her name again, "Emma-" a plea and a prayer and a promise as he tenses, head snapping back to rest against the tile, his eyes shut tight.

"Fuck, darling," he grunts, hips thrusting, and then he's coming, sticky heat spilling over the circle of her fingers as she places her lips to his neck, the flat of her tongue against the hammering pulse of his jugular.

She continues stroking him softly, leaning against his side until he straightens and pushes her backwards, stepping them both under the warm spray as he kisses her like he means to possess her, to consume her, and she'd be more than happy to let him try.

"This," he begins, kissing her forehead, "was not," he kisses her cheek next, "how I intended," and then her lips again, "things to happen, love."

Grinning up at him, she pushes the hair from his forehead, combing through that one dark lock that refuses to stay put. "I'm not even going to apologise," she tells him, laughing as the water flows over her shoulders, beating against his chest, "because now I'll be able to enjoy our date without wanting to jump you."

He raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"Okay, okay, obviously I'll still _want_ to, but you know what I mean..."

Laughing, he pulls her closer with his hands gliding over the wet skin of her ass. "Aye, love, I do."

She kisses him once more through a smile and then regretfully pulls back. "I need to get back to the house and grab a change of clothes before my parent's wake up," she tells him, grabbing his hand and spinning them so that he's fully under the water. She backs to the far end of the shower before dropping his hand. "It's already going to be suspicious enough that my hair is wet, I can't hang out in yesterday's clothes too."

"Fair enough," he nods, looking at her again, eyes flicking back and forth between her face and everything else, and she can't even scold him because he makes a pretty impressive view himself, standing there as the water sluices over his shoulders and down his chest, all dark, dark hair and bare skin, his gaze naked, bright blue and still filled with want, and _fuck_, she needs to leave right now.

"I'm going to uh..." She slides the shower door open and gestures beyond it.

"You do that, darling; I'll see you down there."

Her foot catches in the pile of sodden fabric that is his boxers and she kicks them at him as she steps out of the shower. His laughter follows her as she realizes there are no towels in the bathroom and drips water across the floor to the linen closet, wrapping a towel around herself before sitting another on top of the closed toilet for him.

She quickly dries off and rubs the towel vigorously over her hair so she can knot it in a bun, not bothering to search for some sort of brush or comb.

Killian remains in the shower, singing softly, and she's grateful for it, because if he were out here with her, she knows she'd be very easily distracted again.

Bending over, she retrieves her underwear from the floor. The fabric is still damp with her earlier arousal and she really has no desire to put them back on, so she leaves them with his shirt of the edge of the bathroom counter, grinning like crazy as she moves to the bedroom and quickly pulls on her clothes.

The house is still quiet and dark as she jogs across the driveway in the early morning light and tiptoes up the porch steps, avoiding the spots that creak and groan as she slowly opens the door and passes through the kitchen and living room on the way to her bedroom. Duke cracks open one eye from his position on the pull-out couch, but he makes no move other than to stretch dramatically and roll his belly in the air.

She changes quickly, combs and braids her hair, and is out in the kitchen, toasting a bagel when her mother wanders in.

"I didn't even hear you come in last night," Mary Margaret says, reaching for the coffee pot. "Did you two make it home from the airport all right?"

Emma nods and has to hide her smile behind her coffee mug. "It was pretty late. You and dad were both snoring away when I came in," she lies.

"I'm sure that was all your father," her mother insists. "Any word on if Abi and Colin have made it home?"

"It'll probably still be a while; I think they had a couple layovers, but I'll ask Killian when I see him out there." She gestures toward the barn and has to turn her back to her mother, facing the toaster, because even just mentioning his name makes her smile. She can't seem to keep the stupid grin off of her face if she doesn't get out of here soon, her mother is for sure going to guess that something is up.

"Be sure to let us know when they do," Mary Margaret requests as Emma spreads peanut butter over her bagel. "We'll be out for most of the afternoon and evening," she adds. "Your father's birthday is coming up soon and Killian got us tickets to this big outdoor sportsmen expo a couple counties over."

Smart man, she thinks, wondering if he's been planning this for some time, or if it was just a lucky coincidence. Either way she's impressed. Not only will it afford them some alone time for their date, but she knows how much her father has wanted to visit the convention these last few years.

"Oh, dad will love that," Emma says, taking a bite of her bagel as she turns around and frowns. "Of course now anything I get him is going to automatically be super lame in comparison."

Her mother chuckles at that. "He's bound to see a number of things he wants but doesn't really need at the expo, so I'll make a mental list for you."

Emma shoves the bagel in her mouth, holding it between her teeth as she refills her coffee and heads to the mudroom. "Thanks, mom," she calls, voice muffled. "When are you guys leaving?"

"Probably a little after lunch," Mary Margaret answers. "We'll be home sometime late tonight. You and Killian can handle things here, right?"

"Yup! Don't worry about us, you guys just have a good time! And if you see any reasonably priced halters, we could use half a dozen new ones. The geldings have been playing halter tag again and have already destroyed a few in the last week," Emma tells her mom on her way out the door.

Killian's already in the barn preparing feed when she joins him. She shoves the rest of her bagel in her mouth and sits her coffee down on the bench so she can help.

He raises an eyebrow as he divides up the soaked beet pulp, eyeing her with a barely suppressed grin. "You forgot something upstairs, love."

He's obviously referencing her underwear.

"I know."

"I suppose you'll be wanting them back?" he asks, his hand colliding with hers as they both make a move to scoop up the same type of grain.

She moves her hand and allows him to grab a scoop of the sweet feed first. Then she looks him in the eye and shrugs. "Up to you."

Killian growls, eyes flaring, and she laughs, because god, he's so easy to wind up and now that she's seen this side of him, she can't help but want to bring it out.

"Is it your bloody intention to drive me mad, darling?" he asks, eyeing her darkly, distracted from mixing feed.

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"It will be if we don't have sufficient time and privacy when I finally crack and decide to take you to bed."

She swallows and her voice comes out much higher than anticipated. "Oh?"

"Trust me, darling, when I finally have my way with you, it will be so much more than a quick release of tension up against a shower wall."

The ache between her thighs returns with swift vengeance, and if she thought a quick finger fuck in the shower earlier was going to be enough to keep it at bay for a while, it turns out she was very, very wrong. If anything, she's just gone and made it worse.

_Fuck. _

"Truce? At least until after our date?" she requests, somewhat reluctantly, holding out her hand. "I'll stop riling you up if you stop saying things like... _that_."

Killian chuckles and takes her hand, shaking it firmly. "Aye, a truce it is."

They get back to work and she manages to behave herself, only eyeing him occasionally while mucking stalls, but she's in such a state of excited anticipation for their date that the morning seems to crawl by, so slowly that she swears one time she looks at the old clock above the office door and it actually ticks backward a minute instead of forward.

Her parent's leave just after lunch and the afternoon thankfully passes much faster as they lead trail rides and check-out a number of guests. The day is hot and sunny, and even when they bring the horses in to feed, the approaching evening doesn't seem to be offering much in the way of relief.

There are a number of messages on the answering machine in the office and several future bookings she really should sort through and confirm, but it's Sunday and she can't be bothered dealing with them right now. Instead she shadows Killian as he stacks hay bales and makes a quick tidy of the tack room.

He's grinning knowingly when he finally hangs up the last bridle and turns toward her. "Something I can help you with, darling?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah. You can tell me what we're doing on this date."

Killian laughs and loops an arm around her waist as he guides her from the barn and toward the house. "Give me half an hour to get things in order," he insists, releasing her when they reach the porch. "Relax for a bit, have a little something to eat; dinner is still a ways away."

"Fine," she groans, pushing him lightly in the shoulder. "Am I still okay dressed like this?" She gestures to her jeans and tank top. "Or should I change into something nicer?"

"You're perfect as you are, darling, though unless you're a fan of skinny-dipping, I might suggest a bathing suit."

She opens her mouth to ask him where they'll be swimming, but before she can get a word out, he silences her with a quick kiss, pulls the screen door open, and ushers her through with a firm pat on the ass. "I'll see you in half an hour, love."

Huffing, she watches him trot down the steps and jog across the driveway to the apartment before she closes the door and kicks off her boots. She grabs a granola bar and a banana, plus a large glass of juice from the fridge and heads down the hall to her room in search of a bathing suit.

She eats and decides against a full shower, but when she gets a whiff of her tank top as she pulls it over her head, she thinks rinsing off and grabbing a fresh change of clothes might be for the best. Killian doesn't seem the least put off by her barn clothes, and she suspects this date is going to be more or less casual, but that doesn't mean she can't at least smell nice.

True to his word, Killian knocks on the screen door exactly half an hour later while she's puttering around in the kitchen, tidying things that don't really need tidying, waiting rather impatiently. She's not sure why, because it seems silly, especially in light of this morning's events, but she's suddenly nervous as she dries her hands and moves to open the door.

He's standing there holding a small handful of fairy slippers, her favourite flowers, and her stomach does a funny little tumble down to her knees because she only mentioned them that one time way back during their first trip up to the tepees and she's really impressed that he actually remembered.

Taking the orchids from his hand, she smiles and beckons him into the kitchen so she can fill a glass with water for the flowers.

"You changed," he notes, taking in her clean jeans and tank top.

"So did you." He's still in jeans but they're a different pair, the denim faded and soft, and he's got that white t-shirt on that she loves so much. "So can you tell me where we're going now?" she asks, reaching for his hand.

He grasps her fingers and presses a kiss to the back of her hand. "Come with me, love, and I'll show you."

He leads her out to the far side of the barn where he's got two of the horses settled in the trailer with tack and some other supplies packed away in the storage area. Her parents took her mother's car when they left earlier because it would be easier to park, so Killian's got the truck hitched to the trailer, ready to go.

She doesn't know if he asked her father for permission to use it, but she figures that it doesn't really matter as long as he returns it with gas. She also has no idea when exactly he grabbed the keys from the house, but she's more focused on the fact that they're obviously going for some sort of trail ride.

"A trail ride? Really?" she jokes. "I thought you said you weren't going with clichéd?"

He scoffs indignantly, but grins at her and nudges her toward the passenger side of the truck. "This will be no ordinary trail ride, darling, I promise." Opening the door for her, he settles his hand at her waist as he helps her up into the truck.

She almost asks if he plans to buckle her seatbelt for her as well, but he's just being a gentleman so she holds her tongue and smiles appreciatively.

Once he's settled in the driver's seat after double-checking the latches on the trailer, she reaches for his hand, craving the contact. "So where exactly are we going for this trail ride? Somewhere with water obviously, right?"

"Aye," he says, grinning, but he doesn't elaborate and she figures he's going to keep up with this whole '_it's a surprise'_ mantra for as long as possible.

There are several lakes in the area, some of which she hasn't visited since she was a child and she's curious to see exactly where he plans to take her. She thinks that maybe he'll head in toward town, to one of the better known bodies of water, but he turns the other way instead, following dirt road after dirt road, taking logging routes that wind further into the wilderness, and she has to admit that by the time they finally stop, she's a little bit lost.

He parks the truck and trailer where the road dead-ends and it's just wide enough that he should be able to turn the entire rig around when it's time to head home. He opens the door and rushes to jump out of the truck, but she stops him with a fistful of shirt.

"I swear to god, Killian, if you run around and open that door for me, I'm going to punch you."

He pouts a little bit and she laughs, tugging him in for a kiss. "It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but let a girl open her own door once in a while, will ya?"

"Aye, love, all right, all right. Shall we proceed?"

She kisses him once more and hops down from the truck with a smile on her lips, meeting him around at the back of the trailer so they can lower the ramp and walk the horses out.

It's beautiful up here and she takes in the scenery as they tack up the horses, spraying both themselves and their mounts with bug repellent. They're surrounded by nothing but forest right now; towering pines and thick juniper brush as far as the eye can see. It's still warm at the slightly higher elevation, and the hazy summer heat turns the blue sky a pale periwinkle. Off to the left there's a path through the forest, a haphazardly hammered stake and sign pointing into the trees, paint too faded and wood too weathered for her to make out any of the words.

"You do know where we're going, right?" she teases as she tightens the roan mare's girth and does up the last buckle on the bridle.

Killian slings a backpack over his shoulder and hands her the shotgun, patting his pocket. "I've a map and a compass, brought the radio too, but I've been ensured that the trails are marked and provided we don't stray too far from the path, getting lost shouldn't be an issue."

"How did you find this place anyway?" she asks, curious. She's never been up this way before and she didn't even know these roads existed.

"It's a recently abandoned logging road, only a couple years old. I was looking for trails in the area; somewhere that you likely hadn't visited before and when I was in town a few weeks ago picking up feed, I ran into Robin Loxley, the mayor's... boyfriend I guess you'd call him. He lives just a ways back down the road and works with the lumber crews in the area so he suggested these trails;, maintains them himself."

"That explains why I've never been up here. These roads probably didn't even exist five years ago." She situates the shotgun over her back and shoves her foot in the stirrup to mount. When she settles in the saddle it hits her- "Wait... you said a few weeks ago? We weren't even together then. When was this?"

He laughs and mounts his own horse, a solid black mare. "A day or two after Canada Day I believe. We may not have been an item, love, but you can't deny that the potential was there, that it had been for quite some time."

She shakes her head, knowing it's true, and nudges her horse forward to stand next to him, bumping her knee against his. "And how long ago did you get those convention tickets for my parents? Did you plan that or was it just a coincidence?"

Slipping his arm through the other strap of the backpack, he settles its weight against his shoulders before reaching out and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "That, love, was a bloody fantastic stroke of dumb luck. I bought those tickets back in May, mere hours before you returned home and stumbled into the apartment in the dark."

"You're serious?"

It's almost unbelievable.

"Aye. I don't pretend to understand why life happens as it does, but every once in a while, against all odds and seemingly without reason, everything just falls into place. All I can do is be grateful for it."

She's not sure if she believes in fate; most of the time it seems like a rather silly notion, but when he puts it that way, she has to wonder. It gets her thinking about how many different things had to go right, or as it happens, terribly wrong, to get them to exactly where they are right now.

Leaning in her saddle, she reaches out to balance herself against his thigh so she can kiss him. His hand tangles in her ponytail and she sighs happily against his lips. "I'm grateful too, Killian."

It's not an '_I love you'_, but it's something and she quickly decides that she's also grateful for the smile it brings to his face.

They start off into the trees, heading down a winding path that quickly narrows, forcing them to ride single file. She lets Killian lead, enjoying the sunlight that filters through the trees, birdsong occupying the silence that she doesn't really feel a need to fill. It's peaceful and she returns his smile every time he glances back at her over his shoulder.

The going is rough in places; the forest floor thick with tree roots and rocky escarpment, but the path is well marked with bright orange flags, always one within eyesight of the last. There are no fields up here, no place to go for a good gallop, but the view when they finally break through the trees definitely makes up for it.

Flat rock and boulders give way to a small expanse of sandy beach and a crystal clear lake that shimmers in the early evening sun. Off to the right there's an outcropping of bedrock that extends several meters into the water before disappearing into its depths, and beyond all of it, thick coniferous forest stretches up the slopes of distant mountains. A rocky stream feeds the lake a ways down the shore, and just past it a beaver lodge juts out of the water, a pile of sticks and rocks and mud that make up a home.

Killian appears equally awestruck by the view and she carefully guides her horse up over the rocky ground to stand next to him.

"It's funny," she says, "I've lived in the area most of my life and somehow, even though it's only twenty minutes away, I had no idea this existed."

"So you approve of the location, aye?" he teases as he dismounts, walks around his horse, and places a steadying hand on her hip as she follows suit and does the same.

"I definitely approve," she says and they un-tack the horses, securing them by the tree-line.

She's wondering what exactly he plans to do for dinner, but her unspoken question is quickly answered when he pulls a collapsible fishing rod from the backpack, takes her hand, and leads her over to the rocky outcropping that extends into the lake, a natural-made dock of sorts.

"Have you done much fishing, love? I know your father is quite the enthusiast."

Laughing, she shakes her head. "He used to take me when I was a kid but I was always too impatient. I got bored easily and wouldn't keep quiet. It was always '_Peanut, if you don't sit down and use your indoor voice, you're going to scare away all the fish_'," she says, imitating her father's tone and candour. "I had trouble just waiting around for something to bite."

Killian squeezes her hands and pulls her in for a one armed hug, lips against her temple in a sweet kiss. "I shall do my best to keep you occupied while we wait then, love. Want to help me set things up?"

She nods and catches the backpack as he allows it to slip from his shoulder. "You'll have to show me; I don't remember much."

He starts off by showing her how to extend the rod and attach the reel, positioning the line before requesting that she dig through the front pocket of the bag for the small tackle box. She hands him a hook at his request and watches as, with deft fingers, he ties the hook to the line, explaining the art of a simple clinch knot.

They attach the weights and bobber next, and when it comes time to bait the hook, Emma grabs a wriggling worm from the container and holds it out to him. Killian takes the worm and quickly hooks it, testing the weight of the rod in his right hand as he steps toward the edge of the rocks and holds out his left hand. "C'mere."

She places the lid back on the bait container and moves to take his hand. He ends up positioning her in front of him, within the circle of his arms, and she takes a moment to lean back into his chest, her ass tucked lightly against his groin, enjoying the view as his left arm wraps across her stomach and he breathes out into her hair.

Winding him up would be easy; she could effortlessly shift this embrace into something far less innocent, but she doesn't because she promised a truce earlier and she really does want to enjoy whatever else he has planned for the evening.

Positioning her hand on the rod, he walks her though the parts and theory, explaining the ideal motion and timing, when to release and where to aim before coving her hand with his own and guiding her arm through the motion as they release several practice casts.

When she's confident in the motion and timing, and reasonably certain she isn't going to accidentally hook one of them by mistake, Killian lowers his hand to her hip, still pressed tightly against her back. "Have a go at it, love."

Drawing the rod back by bending her elbow, she flicks it forward with her wrist, straightening her finger to release the line when Killian instructs. The bobber lands with a satisfying plop in the shallows right by the edge of where the bottom drops off and the water gets deeper. It's exactly where Killian had suggested she aim and she squeals gleefully before clamping her hand over her mouth and remembering to keep quiet.

Killian laughs, flips the bail shut on the reel, and kisses her cheek as she twists her head to grin at him. "Good job, love," he praises. "Let's have a seat while we wait for a bite, shall we?"

After handing him the fishing rod and glancing back at the horses to make sure they're still secure, she settles down on the rocks beside him, looking out over the pristine lake. Killian holds her hand and tells her stories about Liam teaching him to fish as a kid. He tells her about the time he accidentally hooked Liam in the back of the thigh when he was first learning to cast, and about another time when they managed to catch a massive twenty pound salmon that fought so hard that it took the two of them almost half an hour of careful manoeuvring and brute force to reel it in.

She tells him about the time she went fishing with her father when she was ten, and how she got so fed up with waiting for a fish to bite because she could actually see them swimming around, that she jumped right into the water and tried to catch one with her bare hands. Of course she only ended up scaring them all away, but she found it hilarious, far more so than her father obviously did, as that was the last time he ever invited her along.

Thankfully this time they don't have to wait long to get a bite because just after she finishes her story the bobber disappears below the water and the line goes taught. Killian's grasp tightens around the handle, holding the line in place as they both rise. He helps her reel it in, standing behind her again, easily bumping and lifting the rod so she can reel in the slack until they manage to haul it up onto the rocks.

It's a nicely sized rainbow trout, only about 2 or 3 pounds, but it's more than enough to eat for dinner, so he gets to work cleaning and gutting it while she heads back over to the sandy beach to build a fire, collecting kindling and deadwood from the forest before digging a hole in the sand.

She's perfectly capable of starting a fire the old-fashioned way; with flint or friction, but Killian brought along a lighter and it makes her job a hell of a lot easier. With the fire going strong she wanders back up to the rocks to see if there's anything else she can do.

He's just seasoning the fish and wrapping it up in foil when she approaches. "Anything I can do?"

"Not yet, love. Just let me pack up the fishing rod then we'll relocate to the fire and let it die down to a nice bed of coals before we cook."

"What else are we having?" she asks, unzipping the main portion of the bag where she finds another foil wrapped package and a bottle of white wine.

"I've got a medley of sweet potato, butternut squash, beets, and turnip in there," he tells her, handing her the foil wrapped fish so he can put away the rest of the gear.

"And pinot grigio," she says, taking a closer look at the label. It's a nice Italian brand too; one of her favourites. "I'm impressed."

"It's one of your favourites, if I'm not mistaken." He grins, tucking things away in the front of the bag as she holds it open for him.

When they get back to the beach he pulls a blanket from the bag and spreads it out upwind of the fire so that the smoke doesn't blow in their faces. "Have a seat, pour us some wine," he insists, taking the bag from her shoulder and setting it down on the blanket, before looping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. "There are plastic glasses in there somewhere. I'm just going to check on the horses and find something to use as a fire-poker."

He kisses her then, quick and dirty, his hands gliding down over her back to grope her ass, his tongue sinful as his lips make a swift detour down her neck. And then he's pulling back, out of her grasp.

She pouts and does a mock imitation of his eyebrow raise. "I thought we called a truce?"

"Too right, love. Apologies, it won't happen again."

She frowns. "What if I want it to happen again?"

He just waggles his eyebrows suggestively and heads off toward the horses.

"Hurry back!" she calls after him as she takes a seat and pulls the wine from the bag. The bottle is chilled (he really did plan ahead), and thankfully doesn't require a corkscrew to open.

She finds two plastic wine glasses at the bottom of the bag next to a container of butter tarts from Granny's and she can't help but smile so wide that it hurts her face, because he really did think of everything.

_Almost everything_, she thinks.

It's probably too much to hope that he changed his mind about waiting and decided to pack a condom or two away in the bag.

Pouring herself a glass, she takes a sip of the crisp white wine; it's light with a hint of green apple and almond, and there's a very real chance she could love this man for nothing more than his culinary prowess and ability to select a good wine.

Of course that's not the case though. She loves him for so much more than that.

He returns with a stupid grin on his face, swinging a large stick as if it's a sword, pretending to sheath it and bowing dramatically when he reaches her side. "I have returned, Milady!"

His sense of humour; it's just one of many reasons.

He shuffles the logs on the fire and breaks them up so he can throw the foil packets in the coals and cover them. Shoving the stick into the sand, he flops down on the blanket next to her, flat on his back with his head in her lap.

Looking down at him, she combs a hand through his hair. "You know that's probably a dangerous position to be in, right?"

Smiling up at her, eyes sparkling mischievously, he's nowhere close to the picture of innocence. "I'm not sure dangerous is the right word, love, but if I were to flip over and bury my face between your thighs, I'd probably be violating some unspoken term of that truce of ours, aye?"

She coughs and nods, taking a sip of the wine to clear her throat, before reaching out to pour him a glass.

He sits up to take it (thank god), and she shakes her head, a little bit disappointed in herself as her eyes automatically drop to his crotch.

When she looks back up he's got the devil in his eyes and she glares at him because for the love of god, can they at least make it through dinner?

He laughs and seems to read her mind because his face softens and he takes a sip of wine. "Perhaps we should reinstate that truce, darling."

"We definitely should," she agrees. "Sooooo... fishing, horses, guitar, cooking... any other hobbies?" she asks, dragging her fingers through the sand at the edge of the blanket.

"I think that about covers it. I enjoy skating in the winter – played a bit of hockey as a teen, but was absolute rubbish at it; I was too slight back then, couldn't take a hit and stay on my feet."

"My parent signed me up for ballet lessons when I was eight," she tells him, shifting to face him, close enough that with their legs crossed, their knees bump together. "Belle had been enrolled for a couple years already and was always so prim and proper around the adults in town. I guess maybe my parents hoped it might get me away from the muddy jeans and tangled ponytails. I think I went to a grand total of three classes before ripping off the stupid sparkly pink tutu in the middle of a lesson and not so politely telling the instructor exactly what I thought of it all."

"I don't imagine your parents thought too kindly of that?"Killian laughs and reaches for her free hand, aimlessly tracing the contours of her knuckles, his fingers running over her skin.

"Nope. I was grounded for a week."

They talk some more while they wait for the food to cook, sipping at wine and sharing memories from childhood. His wasn't as bad as she originally expected, Liam saw to that, and she's glad that he has so many good memories of his brother.

Dinner is delicious and they eat right out of the foil, carefully folding back the hot aluminium into makeshift bowls as they knock forks together, bickering over who gets the crispy parts of the fish and who gets the last piece of sweet potato.

As they eat she learns that he's never broken a bone, but once needed stitches because he got careless riding a bike, crashed it into a stone wall, and put his bottom teeth through his lower lip. He's still got a scar there, but it's only visible when he's actually clean-shaven.

She tells him that she's never had stitches, but that she's broken her left arm, her right ankle, and fractured her collarbone twice in the same spot.

He took a beginner's cake decorating class once on a dare and ended up being the only male in a room full of middle-ages ladies. It turned out to be a lot more fun than he expected, and he actually went back the next month for the intermediate class.

She's never been skiing even though she's lived most of her life in the Rockies, and it's something she'd really like to try this winter.

With dinner finished and their food at least partially digested, Killian recaps the bottle of wine and packs up the garbage in an airtight bag.

It's still quite warm out, the evening sun slanting over the hills on the far side of the lake and she stretches out on the blanket a little, leaning back on her elbows with her feet in Killian's lap. She'd discarded her boots earlier, just before they ate, but now he's peeling the socks from her feet, tossing them to the side, and running his hands up her calves toward her knees.

He shifts to kneel over her, palms ghosting over her thighs to stop at the waistband of her jeans, and she arches an eyebrow, biting her lip as he pops the button and pulls the zipper down. "What are you doing?" she asks, taking in the mischievous glint in his eye and doing absolutely nothing to stop him.

He grins and then sits back on his heels for a second, pulling his shirt over his head. "I want to go swimming." He reaches for her jeans again and gives them a gentle tug. "And I should think it obvious that I'm helping you remove your pants."

Shaking her head and laughing in amusement, she lifts her hips so he can pull the denim down her legs and past her feet. He folds her jeans neatly and sets them aside, and she thinks he might insist on helping her with her shirt as well, but instead he quickly removes his own boots and socks, and then stands, unbuckling his belt and dropping his pants.

She should probably make a point of actually removing her tank top but she's too enthralled by the sight of him stripping down to his swim shorts to do anything other than sit there and stare. She's already seen him shirtless a number of times in the last 24 hours but the view just never gets old.

He offers his hands and tugs her upright, but when she starts to pull back, intending to actually remove her shirt, he scoops her up with an arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, turning and heading straight for the water.

"Killian..." she warns as she clings to his shoulders, but a laugh just rumbles through his chest and he keeps walking.

Squirming in his arms, she struggles half-heartedly, giggling and making a show of protesting. He's got a pretty firm hold on her and she could probably get him to put her down if she _actually_ made a fuss, but it's not like she really cares if he decides to drop her in the water with her shirt still on. It'll dry. Or she can always steal his.

The bottom is sandy and the water shallow where he carries her into the lake, but it quickly drops and after a dozen steps he's in up to his hips and the water is just inches away from her ass.

"Killian," she whines, still laughing as he takes a few more steps and the cool water seeps into the fabric of her bikini bottoms. "You can put me down now."

"I can, can I?"

She rolls her eyes and unhooks her arm from around his shoulders. "Yes."

"If the lady insists," he says.

And then he drops her.

She goes under with a splash, the water cold in contrast to the heat of his skin and the sunny summer air. She'd seen it coming though, had been expecting him to dump her in the lake from the second he picked her up on the beach and she made sure to take a big enough breath beforehand that she doesn't have to surface right way.

Instead she rights herself under the water, hooks her arms around his knees and shoves her weight into him, toppling him and pulling him under with her.

He comes up a couple seconds after she does, sputtering and wiping the water from his eyes.

Standing there dripping, he tries to look irritated, but it mostly just comes across as a pout so she winks at him before diving under again and swimming out where it's a little deeper.

She treads water when she comes up for air and grins at him. "Hey! You said you wanted to swim!"

The look he gives her screams trouble, and when he dives under and makes a beeline right for her feet, she knows she's in trouble. She can't manage to change direction fast enough to avoid him, so she squeals and takes a deep breath right before he pulls her under.

He doesn't hold her there long, only a second or two before dragging her back to the surface with an arm around her waist.

Blinking the water from her eyes, she clings to him as he tows her back a few feet closer to the shore. He's standing now, his head just above the water, but she can't quite reach the bottom so she holds onto his shoulders and circles her legs around his hips.

His hands automatically come up, creeping beneath the fabric of her shirt to rest against bare skin as his eyes find hers, filled with quiet affection. Combing a hand through his hair, she slicks it back and smiles before kissing him, her fingers trailing the stubble on his jaw.

It's hot skin and cool water, the solid strength of him anchoring her as gentle waves lap at her shoulders, the sway of the tide and the pull of the moon, depth beyond measure, and she feels a little like she's drowning in it all; in him and the taste of his mouth and the absolutely ridiculous perfection of the moment. And god she still wants him but there's little urgency to the sweep of his tongue and somehow she's quite content to do nothing but float here and kiss him as the sun sinks in the sky, casting long shadows throughout the valley.

Eventually they head back to sit in the the shallows, skipping rocks and watching a family of ducks until the wind picks up and she starts to get cold.

Killian thankfully thought to bring along towels (somehow it didn't even occur to her) and she dries off quickly while he wanders into the forest in search of more firewood.

Putting on her pants over her wet bikini bottoms isn't a thought she relishes, so she discards the wet garment completely and pulls on her jeans, thankful that the denim is soft and worn. Her shirt is still soaked so she dumps it on the ground with her bikini top and bottoms before grabbing Killian's t-shirt and pulling it over her head.

He returns with a large pile of wood as she's laying out her clothing to dry and she tells him that she'll get the fire started again while he changes. And she does just that, keeping her back to him the entire time because as tempting as it is to peek, she's not that big a glutton for punishment.

When the fire is burning again she joins him on the blanket, settling down between his legs and leaning back against his bare chest. "You're not cold, are you?" she asks as he wraps his arms around her waist and presses a kiss to her still damp hair. "I can give you your shirt back if you want it."

"Tis a tempting offer, love, especially knowing you've not a stitch of clothing beneath it, but I'm quite all right."

He's nice and warm against her back through the thin cotton of the t-shirt and she closes her eyes, enjoying the heat of the fire as it warms her front.

They end up finishing off the last of the wine with the butter tarts, watching the sun drop lower on the horizon as they pick up their earlier conversation, learning even more about each other.

He tells her that Halloween has always been his favourite holiday. He loves it now for candy apples and pumpkin carving, but as a kid most of the appeal stemmed from the ability to pretend to be someone (or something) else for a night; a hero or a villain, maybe a prince or a pirate, the possibilities were endless and it didn't matter what you chose; it was all an escape from reality.

Her favourite holiday is the Canadian Thanksgiving because she loves the fall harvest and there's nothing quite like a trail ride followed by a cup of hot cocoa with cinnamon on a crisp autumn afternoon. There's also her mom's caramel-topped apple pie to look forward to; a treat she's missed out on these last 5 years with no one to blame but herself.

Christmas is a close second for both of them and while he hopes to be able to invite Abi and Colin out again during December, he'll mostly just be happy to spend the holidays with her family, if they'll have him that is.

When he says it, doubt clinging to the edges of his words, she turns in his arms, kisses him soundly, and calls him an idiot, because of course he's welcome to spend Christmas with them. She can already picture mistletoe and snowball fights, curling up in front of a cozy fire after a long day working in the cold, then waking bright and early Christmas morning, because no matter how old she gets, the day still fills her with that same sense of childlike glee.

From there it's almost laughably easy to imagine a future with him, and once the image of two kids and a dog pops into her head, she has a hard time shaking it.

She doesn't ask, but he ends up telling her about his first love, an older woman named Milah that he met while away at University. He fell head over heels for her and she opened him up to a whole new world of experiences, but it all fell apart when he eventually learned that she was married and had been lying about it for the entirety of the three years they were together. It was one of those things he probably should have realized far sooner, he tells her, but he was young and naive and in love, and she gets it. It's not so different from her experience with Neal after all.

After that they move onto less melancholic topics, discussing the horses they bought at auction a couple weeks back and how they really should get to work on training them and desensitizing them on the trails when they have free time in the evenings this coming week. It'll also be an excellent excuse for some more alone time, he reasons, and she wholeheartedly agrees.

They stay on the beach, talking until the sun sets and they're forced to head back while they still have enough light to find their way through the forest.

Packing up their supplies and garbage, they leave the beach exactly as they found it, making sure that the fire is out, the ashes covered with water and wet sand before they tack up the horses and ride back to the trailer.

It's almost dark by the time they get home so they do night check after putting the horses away, setting up an extra floodlight on the barn so that they can clean out the trailer and return everything to its original parking spot.

She gets a text from her mom telling her that they'll be home around midnight, so she invites Killian into the house, not wanting to say goodnight just yet and figuring that he needs to pack up his stuff anyway.

She leaves him to do that and heads to her bedroom to swap her jeans for a pair of pyjama shorts, brushing out her hair and washing her face. She keeps his t-shirt on, not wanting to part with it, and she wonders just how long it might be until he starts asking for his clothes back.

When she returns to the living room he's got his bag packed up, the pull-out bed folded away, and has changed into his own pyjamas. She moves the sheets to the laundry room and leaves them piled on the floor to deal with tomorrow because she's already getting tired and she doesn't think she'll be awake long enough to switch them to the dryer if she washes them now.

They end up snuggled on the couch in front of the television, watching the second half of an old X-Files rerun with Duke asleep at their feet, and by the time the credits roll, she's half reclined against his chest, her fingers curled against the exposed skin between his shirt and pants, yawning and fighting to keep her eyes open.

Kissing the top of her head, he hugs her tight and stretches. "I should let you get to bed, love."

Burrowing into his chest, she turns her head and presses her lips above his heart before reluctantly standing up and reaching for his hands. "I'll walk you across the driveway," she offers, smiling because usually that's his line.

She only walks him as far at the bottom of the stairs, knowing that if she heads up to the apartment, she probably won't come back down. "There," she says, patting him on the chest as she turns to face him, "home, safe and sound."

"I was already home, darling," he tells her, finger twisting with the curl that falls over her shoulder, and he doesn't have to elaborate for her to understand that home isn't so much a place as it is a person.

She reaches for him then, hands holding tight in the fabric of his shirt as she looks up at him. "Killian, I..." She almost says it – _I love you_ – almost tells him, but she stops with the words poised on her tongue and sighs quietly as she changes her mind. "I had a really good time tonight."

His expression changes, but his smile doesn't falter and there's not an ounce of disappointment on his face, just patient understanding before his smile widens into a cheeky grin. "I suppose this means that you'll be telling Belle and Ruby that your predictions of disaster were utterly wrong and that the date was actually a resounding success, aye?"

"Something like that." She laughs and kisses him before giving him a gentle push toward the stairs. "Goodnight, Killian."

"Aye, 'twas indeed, my love," he says, pulling her back in for another quick kiss before turning and disappearing up the stairs.

And the only thing that could possibly make the night better, she thinks, would be to sleep in his arms again.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Finally, an update! Right? ;)

Thank you all for being patient with me! I'll make sure you don't have to wait nearly as long for the next chapter. :)

* * *

The week following their date offers little in the way of alone time. David and Mary Margaret are always around, and having finally decided to sand and re-stain the entire exterior of the barn, quiet mornings mucking stalls with Killian quickly become anything but.

Her father buys a brand new, extremely loud orbital sander, and ladders thump against the outer walls of the building as he sands and her mother follows him around with a paint brush and a giant bucket of wood stain and sealer.

It's the last week of July: the beginning of the height of summer season, and nearly every waking moment is spent working in one way or another. Some mornings she's forced to abandon Killian to finish the stalls alone so that she can head over to the cabins to deal with the guests. Other times it's just a matter of catching up on seemingly endless loads of laundry, restocking supplies, and sitting in the office returning calls and scheduling bookings.

Oddly enough the hours she spends on the phone and in front of the computer quickly become some of her favourites. The office is the only room in the barn without windows and Killian makes a habit of popping in there to rub her shoulders on occasion when she's rolling her eyes and suppressing a sigh because yet another person expects to be accommodated with less than 24 hours notice. He also has a tendency to pull her away from whatever she's doing, spin the chair, kiss her quickly, passionately, and then turn around and go back to his work like he hasn't just knocked her entire world off its axis.

Whenever he does it she finds herself hating him and loving him in equal measure.

Trail rides run through the afternoons until sunset almost every evening and it's not until the next weekend that they actually find time to saddle up two of the new horses and head out for some training on the trails. To say it's an adventure would be an understatement, and she discovers fairly quickly, when she lands with a splash in the river, that the little paint pony despises water. After making sure that she's uninjured, Killian breaks out in breathless laughter and the next hour is spent in soaking wet jeans, trying to coax the nervous gelding to at least put his front feet in the shallower waters at the edge.

On the last day of July, Killian brings his laptop over to the house after they finish the morning chores and they video chat with Colin and Abi while eating a quick lunch. They wish the boy a happy third birthday and reassure him that Hoppy and Mud are both alive and well, living up in the apartment on Killian's coffee table.

At the start of August they have another scheduled trip to the tepees, and Emma thinks that maybe, _finally_, she'll have some real alone time with Killian. That doesn't end up being the case though. The family they take up consists of two exhausted and overworked parents, and their four rambunctious daughters (ages 9 to 14). The girls are polite and well mannered, but they're full of endless energy and never seem to sit still for more than the fifteen or so minutes that it takes to eat a meal.

She and Killian end up playing games with them; creating scavenger hunts and running through card game after card game until someone decides that they're bored and they end up playing capture the flag instead. Emma takes the oldest and youngest girls for her team, Killian gets paired with the two in the middle, and they spend most of the evening after dinner running around in the large clearing. It's a little awkward playing with so few players, but they make do, and when they finally retire to the fire for s'mores and ghost stories, she's not sure she's ever been this tired.

And later, when she eventually follows Killian into the tepee for the night, she only has enough energy to drop her jeans, remove her bra, and kiss him goodnight before she's sound asleep against his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

The next morning she's woken at the crack of dawn by hushed giggling and not so quiet whispers outside the tepee. Killian is nuzzled between her breasts, still sleeping, and the very last thing she wants to do is crawl out of the sleeping bag and face the world. But the canvas rustles as a small hand presses up against it and when she hears her name being called hesitantly, she slowly attempts to untangle herself from Killian's hold.

His eyes blink open and his grip on her waist tightens as he drags his lips over her nipple through the cotton of her shirt. "Just where do you think you're going, love?" he mumbles sleepily, his accent thicker than usual, his voice gravely.

She suppresses a moan and presses a kiss to his hair. "The girls are up," she tells him, cursing her luck because his fingers are toying with the elastic of her underwear now, and god- "and they're standing right outside," she adds quickly, warning him as his hand dips below the fabric, fingers teasing over her folds.

His fingers still against her skin but he doesn't remove his hand from her underwear. Instead he just lifts his head, fixes her with a devilish grin, and whispers, "a bloody shame, that."

"Yeah, no shit," she whispers forcefully back before capturing his lips in a bruising kiss that only leaves her wanting more.

"Emma? Killian? We know you're awake." Slightly louder this time, followed by more giggling.

It's enough to have her regretfully breaking the kiss as he withdraws his hand and grins at her sheepishly.

It turns out that the kids want to help make breakfast for their parents and they're so damn sweet and adorable that she can't even bring herself to be mad at them for the interruption. After they eat, the parents insist on doing the dishes, which actually leaves Emma enough time to sit down with Killian and inform him that she intends to plan their next date some time very soon.

Once they return home, the week continues on in a rather hectic fashion leading up to the British Columbia Day long weekend. Her father's birthday eats up another couple evenings; one for a family celebration on the day of, and another the next night when she swears that her mother invites half of the town over for a barbeque.

She's not sure how she finds the time to do it, but it's been on her mental to-do list for quite some time now so she squeezes in a trip to the doctor and the pharmacy to pick up birth control pills one morning when she's in town running errands. At the rate things have been going lately she's not sure when exactly they're going have time for a second date, let alone actual sex, but she intends to be prepared one way or another.

They manage the odd trail ride with the new geldings here and there, but her father insists on joining them most of the time with his new lesson mare, and really, she's starting to wonder if she's even going to find a time to sneak Killian away for the date she's been contemplating for the past week.

A few more days fly by and when she looks at the calendar one morning and realizes that it's almost the middle of August and that nearly three weeks have passed since their first date, she finally admits to herself that keeping this thing between her and Killian a secret is far more trouble than it's worth. She's tired of nothing more than stolen kisses and endless frustration and she's ultimately come to the conclusion that if she actually wants this relationship to move forward (and she does, _she really does_), then it's about damn time that they tell her parents and get it all out in the open.

That evening after the sun sets and she finishes folding yet another load of linens from the guest cabins while chatting with her parents in front of the TV, she heads out to the barn to do night check. She's running a little bit later than usual and Killian is already out there, leaning in the doorway, waiting patiently.

A big grin stretches across his face when he catches sight of her. "There you are, love. I was beginning to think you'd abandoned me to completing the chores alone tonight."

Hooking her arm with his, she pulls him into the barn. "Not a chance. I was just buried beneath a mountain of laundry and lost track of time. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm ready for summer to be over."

Killian laughs. "Aye, it has been rather hectic of late. I'm still waiting for this date you're supposed to be planning," he teases, drawing her in for a hug.

Her arms find their way around his waist instantly and she presses her nose into his chest, breathing in the comforting scent of him. "It's already planned," she speaks, her words muffled by his shirt. "We just need to actually find time for it," she lifts her head then and meets his eyes, "and I think that will be a hell of a lot easier if we tell my parents about us."

His face lights up the second she says it. "You're certain?"

She nods slowly, smiling up at him. "I am. No more sneaking around. I want this date to happen sometime this century, and I want you. I'm tired of waiting."

He's looking at her like she's just made him the happiest man on the face of the earth and she shakes her head in baffled amazement before pulling him down for a kiss that doesn't last nearly as long as she'd like it to.

"When do you suggest we tell them?" he asks, guiding her down the aisle to the hay room because the horses are making a fuss now, impatiently awaiting their last meal of the day.

Coming up with an answer doesn't take long; she's already been considering it for most of the evening. "Tomorrow after dinner, I think. It's Sunday so we'll all be eating together." Killian tosses a few bales of hay into a large wheelbarrow and she grabs the scissors from the nail on the wall to cut the twine. "I thought about just telling mom first," she says, "but it's probably better to tell them both at the same time."

"Any idea how you want to approach it?" he questions as they push the cart down the aisle, tossing hay into the stalls as they go.

Laughing uncertainly, she just shrugs her shoulders. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead yet."

"Perhaps we'll just come right out with it and hope for the best, aye?"

Nodding, she reaches for his hand, squeezing it quickly before releasing it so they can return to the chores. "Something like that."

His eyes sparkle mischievously as they reach the end of the aisle. "So, this date that you already have planned..." he says and she rolls her eyes because of course he's going to be a brat and ask what she has in mind.

"I think I'm going to take a page from your book here Mister _'It's a surprise'_."

He pouts and she shoves at his shoulder. "Don't give me that look."

"Not even a hint, love?" he asks and somehow his lower lip sticks out even further.

"All I can tell you is that it's going to blow yours out of the water."

The pout vanishes and he raises an eyebrow. "That so?"

"Damn right." She throws him a cheeky smile and then he's abandoning the wheelbarrow in the center of the aisle to back her up and press her against the wall.

He doesn't kiss her, just pins her there with the weight of his hips against her own and his hands at her waist, watching her, and she's almost tempted to walk into the house and tell her parents this very second because she really is _that_ tired of waiting.

His hands creep under her shirt and his lips fall to her neck and she doesn't know if she should spur him on or stop him, but after indulging him (and herself) for several long moments, she pushes lightly against his chest and whines his name. "Killian..."

"Yes, darling?"

"We need to stop." She doesn't want to stop. She wants him to take her right here against the wall; all demanding lips and questing hands, the hard press of his body naked against hers, filling her over and over again. She whimpers. "I'm serious," she adds, whining in frustration.

He chuckles against her neck, scruff rough against her skin, and pulls back slowly until it's just his hands on her hips. "I suppose we should," he murmurs regretfully, dragging his gaze up from her breasts to meet her eyes with a sigh and another pout. "You've plans for this date soon, yes?"

He's practically whining and it seems that she's not the only one fed up with the rather nonexistent progression of their relationship of late.

"Very soon. I promise," she says, nodding before pressing one last kiss to his lips and then backing up to grab the hose.

They finish up the chores in relative silence and when he heads up to the apartment for the night, it's all she can do not to follow him.

* * *

Sunday morning she wakes when it's still dark, an hour before her alarm is scheduled to sound, nervous anticipation roiling in her belly. She's wishing now that they had decided to tell her parents first thing because she's fairly certain that waiting all day is going to kill her.

Closing her eyes and flipping her pillow over to the cool side, she tries to go back to sleep, but instead she just ends up lounging there in the dark, curled beneath the covers and staring at undefined shadows that slowly take shape, their edges becoming clear as the sun rises.

When the shrill tone of her alarm sounds, she pulls herself from bed, dresses, and heads into the kitchen to ply her already frazzled nerves with caffeine. She makes an attempt at choking down breakfast, but the toast tastes like cardboard and the thick layer of peanut butter sticks unpleasantly to the roof of her mouth as she chews and chews and chews, trying to swallow.

She ends up washing the first piece down with a glass of orange juice and trashing the second, not sure that she can stomach another bite.

She puts on a smile as she heads out to the barn, but the second Killian takes a look at her, he seems to know it's all an act.

"Everything all right, love?"

And she could lie to him, tell him everything is fine, and if she put enough feeling behind it he would probably accept it, even if he didn't actually believe her, but that requires more energy than she has right now and she's not overly fond of lying to him, so she lets her face fall as she sighs. "I'm just nervous about telling them later and I didn't sleep all that great."

He extends a hand and she willing takes it, wrapping herself in his arms.

"We don't have to tell them yet. There's no rush. We'll do it whenever you're ready, love," he speaks against her hair.

Shaking her head, she leans back enough to look up at him and tap her fingers against his chest. "We're telling them," she states firmly. "I'm ready. It's just the waiting that's killing me here."

"We could tell them this morning," he suggests, "feed the horses and turn them out first. Your parents ought to be awake by the time we've finished. We'll ambush them in their pyjamas while they're eating breakfast."

"You're serious?"

"Aye. I can even do the talking if you'd prefer. Although I was thinking that perhaps just walking in there in kissing you might to the trick," he jokes in a successful attempt to lighten the mood.

She groans, laughing as she pinches his side. "Words are probably the wise choice, and I appreciate the offer, but they're my parents; I should be the one to say it."

"Whatever you think is best. Just know that I'll be by your side, and that even if your father threatens me with dismemberment, I've no intention whatsoever of leaving."

Kissing him, she whispers a "thank you" against his lips, only pulling away from him when the horse in the stall next to them snorts indignantly in her ear and reaches out to nudge Killian firmly in the shoulder.

"I guess we should feed these guys and get them out so we can get this over with and I can breathe again," Emma huffs, anxiety already creeping back in.

He smiles reassuringly. "Everything will be all right, Emma, you'll see."

She plays his comforting words back in her head on a loop as they feed and begin turning out, but by the time they've finished and are crossing the driveway toward the house, any semblance of chill she had left seems to vanish entirely.

Stressing, she's trying to figure out words and phrasing and tone, wondering just how exactly she's going to spit out the truth to her parents and how they're going to take it. She doesn't think telling them about Neal all those years ago ever had her heart beating this fast or her palms this sweaty, but she's also pretty damn sure that what she felt for Neal falls miles short of what she's coming to feel for Killian, so she grabs his hand when he offers it and takes a deep breath as she pulls him into the kitchen where her parents are seated at the table eating breakfast.

"We're dating," she blurts out. "Killian and I are dating. Although technically it's only been the one date, but I want there to be more and keeping this a secret is too much work, so there; now you know."

Silence descends over the room and she watches her parents, trying to read their expressions, but her mother just looks at her father expectantly and holds out her hand, palm facing up. Neither of them have said a damn thing and the seconds tick by with excruciating slowness as her father stands and moves to the counter, pulls open a drawer, and removes his wallet.

Emma doesn't get it, no part of their reactions make one lick of sense and as she watches her father return to his seat at the table, the first thought that pops into her head is: _At least he didn't reach for a knife. _

Sharing a worried look with Killian, she tightens her fingers around his before returning her attention to her parents just in time to see her father pull a twenty dollar bill from his wallet and hand it to her mother with a frown.

_Wait... What?_ The wheels turn frantically in her mind and when Killian chuckles warmly next to her, it all clicks into place.

"Were you guys betting on us?" Emma asks, incredulous.

Her father is still frowning, but her mother just smiles brightly and nods. "I've had an inkling about the two of you for quite some time. Your father however has remained in stubborn denial up until this every moment."

David harrumphs and Emma has to bite back a laugh as his scowl deepens.

"How long have you suspected?" Killian asks, leading Emma over to the unoccupied chairs at the table.

They sit and Killian doesn't release his grip on her fingers, not even for a second; a move that she's extremely grateful for because while her mother seems to be on board, her father is still eyeing Killian warily, looking at him as if he's suddenly transformed into some sort of monstrous alien or something.

"I really have suspected for quite a while," her mother says proudly, laughing.

Her father groans, sitting there with his arms crossed, and Emma just sighs because she suspects that she's about as excited to hear this as her father is.

"It was the night of Ruby's birthday party when Killian had to carry you into the house that I really started to wonder. And then there was the morning after – you were all embarrassed and I said that it could have been worse, that you could have kissed him, and you thought I didn't notice because my back was turned and the water was running, but you almost choked on your coffee."

Killian raises an eyebrow, laughter evident in his gaze, and she digs her nails into the back of his hand beneath the table, glaring at him; a silent warning that he better never bring up what actually happened that night.

"And then there's _that_," her mother says, pointing out their silent exchange. "The two of you make eyes at each other all the time and have these silent little conversations, and it's cute because you think you're being discreet, but really, you aren't."

"So that's it?" Emma asks, her tone teasing. "Just speculation based on me accidentally inhaling coffee and a few facial gestures?" She feels better now that it's all out in the open, better knowing that her mother has seen it coming for a while and that she obviously approves. And maybe her father is still sitting there, silently glaring at Killian, but she's not worried. Not anymore.

Her mother smiles then and it's that look that Emma has always associated with embarrassing stories from her childhood. She doubts this will have much of anything to do with her childhood though.

"It was all just circumstantial evidence up until the night the two of you drove Abi and Colin to the airport."

_Oh crap... she can't possibly know, can she?_

Emma swallows and tries to look innocent. "I don't know what you're talking about," she lies.

Her father looks confused. "Neither do I." It's the first time he's spoken and it almost startles her.

"I was still awake when the two of you got back that night," Mary Margaret continues. "And you definitely did not sleep here."

_Turns out she can. Oops._

Realization dawns on her father's face, followed quickly by a deeper frown. "I did not need to know that."

Killian is staring at the tablecloth, and Emma just looks at her mother accusingly. "You let me lie to you?"

Mary Margaret nods. "I figured you'd tell me when you were ready and you did."

"You knew she was sleeping over there and you didn't stop her?" David asks his wife, looking betrayed.

"I'm not a child, dad," Emma insists, rolling her eyes.

"She's hardly a child, David," her mother echoes at the same time. "Have you forgotten that she spent most of the last five years living on her own?"

Killian shifts in his chair and her father just grunts in defeat before finally meeting Killian's eyes. "I'll warn you once, Jones," David says. "You do what that asshole did to her? You break her heart? There will be a shallow grave so far out in those mountains that they'll never find your body."

"Jesus, dad," Emma curses, but Killian just squeezes her hand quickly before releasing it and holding his hand out across the table to her father. "I'll tell you what, Dave; if I'm ever daft enough to do something so unconscionable, I'll dig the bloody grave myself, all right?"

They're quiet for a moment, staring each other down in a silent battle of wills as Killian's hand remains motionless, his arm outstretched over the table, and Emma doesn't exhale until her father nods curtly, takes Killian's hand, and shakes it firmly. "I'll hold you to that."

"Sooo..." Emma says, breaking the awkward silence. "Now that that's all settled, any chance Killian and I can have a couple days off this week? We haven't had a break in ages and things are going to be slowing down a bit this coming week. It'll just be the regular chores and trail rides. There aren't any guests checking out until Sunday and no trips to the tepees until Friday." Emma directs the question to her mother, figuring she'll be easier to convince.

She's right.

"Shouldn't be a problem. What days were you thinking?" Mary Margaret asks.

Emma ends up convincing her parents to give them Tuesday and Wednesday off, and when she heads back out to the barn with Killian to finish the morning chores, she's grinning ear to ear and fighting the very real urge to skip, practically floating with relief.

"These two days off; might they have something to do with this date you have planned?" Killian asks, his fingers twisting with hers as they cross the driveway.

Spinning to face him, she walks backwards, grabbing his other hand as well. "Maybe?" she teases, stopping suddenly so that he almost walks right into her, standing close enough that she can kiss him easiy.

Her father coughs obnoxiously from the porch, loud enough that Killian pulls back, and she just rolls her eyes. "Ignore him," she instructs. "He'll make a big deal every time we're within two feet of each other for the next week or so, but eventually he'll get over it."

"Perhaps," Killian agrees, "but he's taking this rather well and I'd rather not push my luck just yet."

"I guess," she huffs, continuing toward the barn with Killian in tow. "We should probably focus on getting those stalls done anyway, right?"

"Aye, love. Work before play and all that drivel. I'll kiss you later when your father's not around to glare at us disapprovingly."

Later becomes problematic though because her father makes a point of not leaving them alone for any length of time, even going so far as to show up in the barn during night check under the obviously false guise of double checking the latest feed shipment.

She kisses Killian goodnight anyway, but not with nearly as much enthusiasm (or tongue) as she'd prefer.

* * *

Monday drags by in much the same fashion, and by the time Tuesday morning rolls around and they've got the horses fed and turned out, she's more than ready for some real alone time.

Handing Killian a spare hiking backpack and a handwritten packing list, she pushes him in the direction of the apartment with a sly grin, telling him to meet her back down by the bug in half an hour.

A quick perusal of the list has a smile spreading across his face and lighting up his eyes. "We're going somewhere overnight?" he guesses. "That's why you asked your parents to give us two days off."

She nods. "Now go pack. And wear something comfortable for lots of walking."

She can tell he wants to ask more questions, but he just raises a silent eyebrow and does as told.

When he disappears up the steps to the apartment, she goes back over to the barn to gather some supplies, packing them into her car before heading into the house to get everything else ready.

She'd told her mother the gist of her plans last night; both as a precaution before heading into the wilderness, and also because she figured having someone to run interference with her father might prove helpful. So far he hasn't clued into the fact that she's packing up the car and leaving for an overnight trip with Killian and she's hoping to keep it that way until they're out of here and on the road.

"You and Killian heading out soon?" her mother asks when Emma wanders into the kitchen.

"In a little bit. I'm just packing up the last few things," she tells her mom, poking her head into the freezer to grab the pre-prepared food she intends to cook for dinner. "Have you seen my water shoes?"

Mary Margaret nods. "I think they're tucked away in my closet. Do you want to take your father's too? They should fit Killian."

Emma tucks the frozen food into a cooler bag along with some fruit, snacks, and the makings of a few other simple meals. "Probably a good idea; don't want Killian to repeat dad's bruised foot incident of 2006."

Her mother laughs. "I thought for sure we were going to have to enlist some poor stranger to help carry him the last two kilometres of the trail."

"It wasn't even that bad," Emma says, rolling her eyes. "I mean obviously it must have hurt, but it was just a bruised arch, nothing broken or cut."

"Oh I know; he's such a baby." Mary Margaret shakes her head. "I'll go grab those for you," she offers, still laughing as she leaves the room.

"Thanks mom!" Emma shouts down the hall. "I'll be in my room packing up a few more things."

Last night she'd made a point of packing most of what she thinks she'll require, and now it's just a matter of double checking and changing into something more comfortable for a long day of hiking.

A large part of her had wanted to work time with the horses into their date somehow, but she'd decided against it, opting instead to make the half day trek to what she knows is a beautiful location on foot. It's been years since she's visited the nearest provincial park, years since she last camped there with her parents as a teen, and now this second date with Killian seems like the perfect opportunity to revisit it. And it's probably just as well that they won't be riding. There are a couple sights she wants to show him along the way and much of the path she has mapped out is steep, rocky terrain, unsuitable for even the most surefooted of horses. Instead they'll be travelling light, making the trip on foot with everything they need tucked away in two backpacks.

Unzipping her jeans, she tosses them in the direction of the laundry hamper before pulling on her bikini bottoms under a pair of stretchy yoga shorts. She swaps her bra for the bikini top, and is just pulling the t-shirt over her head when her mother knocks on the door.

"Come in!" Emma calls as she reaches for a clean pair of socks.

Mary Margaret enters with the water shoes neatly folded away in a plastic bag. "Did you pack towels?" she asks, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

Emma fights the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, mom." She knows what's coming and resigns herself to nodding repeatedly as her mother runs though a verbal checklist.

"Sunscreen and bug spray?"

Emma nods.

"What about walkie-talkies and the bear spray? Do you have the emergency kit? Bedding? The tent?"

She nods again.

"Everything you need for food and cooking? Condoms?"

Emma almost chokes on air, coughing and clearing her throat. "Really, mom?"

Mary Margaret just bites back a laugh and looks at her expectantly. "Well?"

"Yeah, yeah, I've got it covered," Emma says, shaking her head, trying not to laugh at her choice of words because birth control pills as opposed to condoms mean that, in the event that sex _actually_ does occur, very little will be covered in any literal sense. The thought alone has her biting her cheek as she recalls the memory of Killian naked in his shower, hard and hot and heavy in the circle of her fingers. _And nope, no way, definitely not._ She should not be thinking about _that_ while her mother is still sitting in her room, not four feet away and nattering on about bear safety while hiking and how they need to remember to store their food and garbage properly.

Taking the water shoes from her mother's hands, she shoves them into the front of the pack and zips everything shut. "I know," she says. "Make lots of noise, be alert, store food and garbage at least 100 meters away from the tent, secured at least 3-4 meters above the ground. Keep the bear spray easily accessible, stick to the trails, stay close together, and so on and so forth. I know, mom. I may have spent some time in the city, but I haven't forgotten everything you guys taught me as a kid."

Her mother holds her hands up in surrender. "All right, all right, I just had to make sure. You're my only daughter; can't have you getting mauled by a bear now can I?"

Shouldering her bag, Emma wraps her mom in an impromptu hug. "Love you too, mom. I promise there will be no getting eaten by bears and we'll be home safe and sound by supper time tomorrow." With that said she releases her mom and nods toward the door. "I'd better get out there. Killian will be waiting. Follow me out and make sure dad stays distracted? I don't think he's realized yet that this date is going to involve a sleepover and I'd like to keep it that way."

Her mother chuckles and trails her through the kitchen, holding her bag while she laces up her hiking boots, and then following her out the door. "He'll get over himself soon enough. In his mind you're still his little girl. He sees how happy you are though; it'll just take him a little time to adjust to the fact that this has all been going on right under his nose."

"I still can't believe you let me lie to you about it for so long!" Emma laughs, bumping her shoulder against her mother's in a lighthearted gesture as they head across the driveway.

"I get the feeling you were lying to yourself about it for quite a while before you even thought about telling me." Mary Margaret places a gentle hand on Emma's forearm and squeezes before they part ways. "You two have fun and be safe. Oh, and there's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight," she adds as she makes her way toward the barn. "Make sure you pick a spot with a view."

"That's the plan," Emma says, smiling as she catches sight of Killian exiting the garage to wait by the bug.

"All packed?" she asks as she reaches his side and slides the bag from his shoulder. He nods and she pops the trunk, tucking their bags away quickly and closing the hatch before he has a chance to take a peek at any of the contents. He has to have a general idea of her plan by now, but she wants to keep him in the dark for as long as possible.

He chuckles as he settles into the passenger seat. "I was going to ask where we're headed, but something tells me it'd be a waste of breath, aye?"

Starting the car and buckling her seat belt, she shifts to face him, not even attempting to contain her grin. "You're not wrong." She wants to kiss him, but she settles instead for placing her hand on his swim short clad thigh and dragging her fingertips teasingly over the warm skin and dark hair at the edge of the material. "I guess you'll just have to wait until we get there." His breath catches when her fingers tickle their way over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh and she thinks that maybe he'll retaliate, torture her with a teasing touch of his own, but he just smiles and settles back into his seat, the very picture of contentment as she removes her hand, presses the clutch to the floor, and shifts the car into first.

It's not a long trip west to the provincial park, just shy of an hour on winding roads up through the mountains, and they spend it in a mixture of companionable silence and easy conversation, Killian's hand resting atop hers on the gear shift.

It's still just midmorning when they arrive, but the sun is already high and hot in the sky as she drives through the towering wooden archway at the entrance to the park. It's early on a weekday so the grounds are quiet and it doesn't take very long to register and pay for admission (Killian quickly gives up on insisting to pay when she pulls out her wallet and fixes him with a menacing glare). They make their way into the parking lot and she pulls in next to a rusty old pickup near the head of the trail.

After shifting the bug into park, she turns to face Killian. "You ready for the best hiking and camping adventure of your life?" she asks, hoping that it all really does live up to her rather confident words. It should; provided they're both careful and no one winds up spraining an ankle.

He nods eagerly and unbuckles his seatbelt, already reaching for the door handle, practically bouncing on the spot like an excited child (she definitely sees the familial resemblance with Colin there). "Let's not dally then. It's safe to assume that we've got quite the journey ahead of us, yes?"

"Mhmm." She pushes open her own door, shaking her head and smiling because his enthusiasm is contagious and while she was already looking forward to the day, she's quite possibly even more excited for it now.

Popping the trunk, they organize the loose items into their packs. Killian ends up carrying the lightweight tent in his bag, and she shoves the compact bedrolls into hers. The emergency kit, small camping axe, food, and other essentials get divided evenly between them so as to assure that neither is burdened with the bulk of the weight.

The first portion of the trail is easy, consisting of fairly level dirt paths, wide enough to walk side by side - the type that are perfect for parents with young children and strollers. She doesn't intend to follow that trail for very long though; the real sights lay off the beaten path, at the end of a grueling hike through the backcountry.

They exchange smiles with the other hikers that they meet on the main path, and Killian follows her without question, trusting that she won't get them lost. When they come to a fork in the trail, a choice between continuing along the even path or heading up a steep incline into the trees, she takes his hand, intertwines her fingers with his, and pulls him left in the direction of the forest.

She'd studied the map extensively last night before bed, but most of these trails are still engrained in her memory from the numerous trips of her childhood, so the fact that the laminated piece of paper is tucked away in the front pocket of her backpack is more a precaution than any real need for it.

As they travel though the trees, sheltered from the sun by the towering canopy, treading over uneven ground and the red-brown decay of fallen pine needles, she tells Killian stories of the camping trips from her childhood. She tells him about the bee stings from the time she ran foolishly into a low hanging nest while chasing a chipmunk and not paying any attention to where she was going. She tells him about the Nolan family curse; how whenever they went camping as a family, without fail, they would have at least one day and night of near constant thunderstorms and torrential downpour, but that some of her best camping memories actually involve being cooped up in a damp tent with her parents, playing poker with her father and using gummy bears as currency. She tells him about all the scraped knees and bruises and points out the tree where she fell and broke her wrist the first time, tells him that as a kid, ghost stories by dwindling campfires had her shaking in her boots and curling up between her parents at night. She wants to tell him about her father's bruised foot incident, but she decides that it can wait until they reach their first destination; the location where it actually took place.

He tells her that he didn't do any camping at all as a child, that his family wasn't really much of a family, as she already knows, and his father thought a bottle of Jack was much better company than two young boys. It wasn't until the summer after he graduated high school that he went camping for the first time, and at that point he felt like an awkward third wheel tagging along on what was surely supposed to be quality couple time for Liam and Abigail. They invited him along though, rather insistently, and while he was saddled with the misfortune of being able to hear every graphic detail of their love-making in the other tent, he had a surprisingly enjoyable time. He tells her that as he got older, he made a point of scheduling solo camping trips one or two weeks each summer, often travelling completely off the grid for days at a time with no more than a pack of supplies and a kayak.

She's so caught up in the candor with which he speaks that she almost forgets to properly appreciate the view as they break through the forest and into a rocky valley. A flowing stream meanders through the centre of it, glittering in the sunlight as a warm breeze rustles through the trees. Sparse grass gives way to heavily pebbled shores, and sloping mountains climb into the sky to the north and west.

She stops walking and turns to face him when she meets the resistance of his hand in her own. "Pretty spectacular, isn't it?" she prompts in response to the look of awe on his face.

Still holding onto her hand, Killian does a 180, turning to take in the scenery. "At the risk of sounding like a bit of a broken record, because I'm positive I've said this a great many times in the last few months; I've really never seen a view quite like this."

Smiling, she tugs gently on his hand, careful not to upset his balance on the loose pebbles and easily shifted rocks beneath their feet. "Just wait. You haven't seen anything yet."

"I don't know, love," he says, his voice teasing as they resume walking, heading toward a pile of fallen logs that act as a bridge to cross the stream. "This has already set the bar pretty high – it's not nice to get a man's hopes up and then fail to deliver." His eyebrow is raised in a challenge, one that has nothing whatsoever to do with the scenery, one that she's only too happy to answer. Later though, she thinks, inhaling deeply as she turns her eyes away from the footing for a second to take him in. Oh yes, she's more than ready to deliver. The question is though; is he done with his stubborn insistence on properly courting her? – all that chivalrous crap about doing this right, because it's been months and as far as she's concerned, he's more than earned it.

"Oh I'm more than prepared to deliver," she taunts, walking backwards so she can look at him. "The question is, Killian, can you handle it if I do?" She almost trips then, her ankle dangerously close to twisting atop a loose rock, and he steadies her with a hand on her hip, his fingers clasped tightly around her own, tugging her upright and into the safety of his arms.

"I think, perhaps," he says, releasing his grip on her waist to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, "we ought to save all discussion of the delivery and handling of _things_ until later when we are somewhere less likely to result in grievous injury, aye?"

Pressing into the heat of him, she smooths a hand over his chest and places a quick kiss against the stubble covering his chin. "Okay, but only because twisting an ankle would seriously derail my plans for the evening."

The smile he gives her as he releases her is curious and actually accomplishing the task of turning away and returning her attention to the path ahead is a lot more difficult than it should be. She wants him more than she's wanted anything in a very long time. And it's not just the physical aspect that she craves (although at the moment her nerve endings are practically screaming for her to reach out and touch him again - it's a yearning that only grows, no matter how much she tries to ignore it) – but she also wants so much more than that.

She wants a future with him. She's not exactly sure what form that might take just yet, but that doesn't mean she hasn't thought about it. She expects her parents will want to officially retire sometime within the next decade, and when that happens someone will have to take over work and management at the ranch, and maybe it's not exactly what she had in mind for long-term goals when she moved back home at the end of May, but honestly, at that point, she hadn't really been thinking of anything more than running as fast and as far as she could.

Now though the thought of a future here, of building a life here with Killian; it fills her heart with hope.

And it's still more than a little terrifying because she's barely known him for three months and she still doesn't know when she'll work up the courage to tell him that she loves him, but somehow none of that seems to matter all that much because he makes her happy, and right now, that's the most important part.

Crossing the stream, they walk single file over the makeshift bridge of cedar logs. She lets him go first and the second he returns to solid ground on the other side, he's holding out his hand and reaching for her again, linking their fingers together and guiding her down, regarding her with a look of intense concentration, his brow furrowed, biting his lip as a smile plays at the corners of his eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks, frowning, unable to decipher the meaning behind the expression on his face.

"Like what, love?" He fails to bite back a grin.

She rolls her eyes. "I don't know, that's why I asked. It's like you're trying to read my mind or something."

He laughs and this time he's the one to tug her forward across the rocky valley. "Perhaps I was. Or perhaps I'm simply trying to understand how I got so lucky."

"Lucky?" she asks, feigning cluelessness, seeking clarification even though she doesn't really need it. Maybe she wants it though…

"Aye, darling – lucky. Surely you must know by now that I count myself unfathomably lucky to have met you. Even if we'd never become more than friends, I'd still be remiss not to consider myself extremely blessed." He stops walking and turns to face her again and for a brief second irritation stirs with the thought that they'll never make it to the campsite if they keep stopping like this, but the look of honest adoration on his face combined with the beautiful sincerity of his words quickly sweep any fleeting annoyance away on the gentle breeze.

"I've never deemed myself a very lucky man, Emma. Fortune rarely sees fit to favour me. But winding up here, meeting you and your parents and your friends; I've never been happier. And I treasure every moment spent with you; be it the joy of holding you in my arms and kissing you, or the monotony of shovelling manure at your side."

She snorts, inelegant laughter and squeezes his hand.

"So aye, love, you make me feel like the luckiest man alive," he finishes and _god_, she really should have known what she was getting into when she asked, because now she's blinking back unruly tears and wishing she has the ability to form an even semi-coherent response.

Instead she leans into him and presses her forehead against his. "Killian…" She's not sure what to follow that up with so she just kisses him, slowly, softly, exhaling as her fingers cup the back of his neck and her thumb traces the valley behind his ear. He holds her close, fingers almost desperate in the cotton of her shirt even when she pulls back to look at him.

He's never told her that he loves her, not in the exact words anyway, and she thinks that maybe he's waiting for the right moment (whatever that might be), she thinks that possibly he's still worried about overwhelming her with such a monumental declaration, but she can already see it in his eyes, has already heard it time and time again in each moment of quiet honesty and reassurance, and the only thing terrifying about it all is wondering if he'll expect her to say it back.

She doesn't think he would though - he knows her better than that, so she smiles and tugs his earlobe between her thumb and forefinger. "You know, you're kinda stealing my thunder here," she accuses playfully.

His grip relaxes on her shirt and he presses a kiss to her forehead with a smile. "How so?"

"I'm supposed to be the one doing the romancing this time around and you just _had_ to go make with the giving of a heartfelt speech. I mean seriously? Way to take the wind outta a girl's sails."

"Would it help if I said something utterly uncivilized?" he offers, chuckling softly. "Perhaps a fart joke? Your father has shared a number with me over the last several months."

"Please don't." Poking him in the stomach, she nods over her shoulder. "We really should keep going. We still have a lot of ground to cover before dinner and there's a stop I want to make along the way."

"Lead the way then," he says, his fingers lingering at her waist for a second before he releases her.

With a smile she turns and resumes her trek across the clearing, heading for the forest to the north and the trail over the rocky escarpment of the upward sloping mountain. The going here is much more difficult than the start of the hike and she flips on the battery powered speaker at her belt, music from her iPod playing as conversation dwindles and they focus on traversing the rugged landscape. Tree roots and jagged moss-covered rocks make the uphill hike strenuous and she's already worked up quite the sweat by the time they reach the area where she plans to stop for lunch.

Coming to a halt, they stand on a rocky outcropping several meters above a mountain lake. The view here is okay, but a large portion of it is blocked by a thicket of pines, so she unfastens the waist and chest buckles of her pack and lowers it to the ground near a narrow opening in the rock shelf beneath their feet.

"I'll climb down first," she tells him, "you throw down the bags and then follow after, okay?"

"What's down there?" he asks, looking warily at the hole.

She understands his hesitation; from up here it really just looks like rock leading to more rock. "You'll see. It's worth the climb," she promises, crouching to the ground and dangling her feet through the opening. "It's about three meters down through the rock, then I'll hit a ledge and call up for you to toss the bags down. From there it's only a few steps to the ground."

"Be careful, love."

"I always am." Grinning at him, she shimmies down into the opening, pressing her palms flat against the rough rock and walking her feet down, the rubber of her hiking boots secure against the walls of the vertical tunnel. When she reaches the ledge, she steps down and backs up slightly so that she's not in the path of the bags, calling up for Killian to toss them down.

He drops the bags down, one after the other, and she catches them, sitting them aside so that he can climb down.

She's already moved off the small ledge by the time he makes it through the opening and the smile on his face as he turns and takes in their location is nothing short of breathtaking.

"It's an underwater cave," she tells him, "though most people that know of it just call it the grotto."

Carved into the side of the mountain, at the shore of the lake, the cave stretches back into the earth, its crystal clear turquoise waters bathed in sunlight where the large body of water meets the cavern in a collision of jagged boulders and fallen rocks. The surface of the lake beyond is relatively calm, deep aquamarine fading into sparkling sapphire.

The ledge beneath the hole drops down again to an area of flat rock that extends back into the darkness of the cave and she opens her bag to extract the towels and water shoes before pulling her t-shirt over her head.

Killian is watching her appreciatively as she toes off her boots and drops her shorts. He eyes her like he wants to devour her and it's not an unpleasant thought, but if he's expecting a relaxing swim in warm water, he's in for quite the surprise. Even in the middle of the summer the waters of this lake are some of the coldest she's ever been swimming in. The lake is fed by melt water from a glacier way up in the mountains and though it's warmed significantly by the time it pools here, it's still not exactly what one might consider balmy.

As a kid she used to spend almost half an hour trying to slowly acclimate to the frigid temperatures, dipping just her feet in to start, but she quickly learned that the only way to really go about submersing oneself is to just get it over with all at once by jumping or diving from the cave wall.

Peeling the socks from her feet, she shoves them into her hiking boots before pulling on her water shoes, balancing on one foot at a time and watching as Killian follows suit and begins to undress. He's already wearing his swim shorts so he really doesn't have to do much more than take off his shirt and remove his shoes, so she tosses the other pair of swim shoes to him. "You'll want those. The rocks in the water can be sharp and slippery." She decides to be kind and warn him about the temperature. "And the water is cold – easiest way to do it is to just jump right in," she suggests, already making her way over the rocks and up the cliff wall so that she can dive into the deeper waters in the centre of the cave.

"How cold is it?" Killian asks.

She just laughs and makes the last step up the rocky cave wall. "Cold," she says unhelpfully, and then she takes a deep breath and dives in.

The water is shocking even though she's expecting it and she holds her breath against the instinctual urge to gasp, quickly righting herself and swimming upward, goose bumps prickling over tight skin as she breaks the surface and treads water, wiping at her eyes.

"How is it, love?" Killian asks, still just watching from the rocky ledge. "Refreshing?"

"That's one word for it." Swimming to the ledge she levers herself up and out of the water, grinning as she approaches him. Her skin is cold and wet with water droplets, her long hair slicked to her back, and his eyes drop instantly to her breasts, to the push of her pebbled nipples against the wet fabric of her bikini top.

She reaches out for him and he instantly opens his arms – a move which he will likely regret, because she steps into him and presses her cold, wet torso against the heat of his bare chest.

"Bloody hell, love," he hisses. " You're like an icicle. You expect me to swim in that?" The noise of displeasure that follows has her giggling uncontrollably against his chest while she nods, pressing her icy fingers to the skin of his lower back before pulling away and heading toward the cliff again. "You coming in? Or are you afraid of a little cold water?"

He scoffs as if such a thing is clearly preposterous and follows quickly behind her.

She likes that he's not the type to turn down a challenge.

This time when she dives in the temperature isn't nearly as shocking and she treads water, watching as Killian scales the rock wall and grins at her before taking a deep breath and executing a tidy dive off the edge and into the pool.

He emerges next to her and shakes the wet hair from his forehead, spraying her with water droplets.

"See?" she says. "It's not so bad."

He gives her a skeptical look, but spends the next fifteen minutes swimming and diving with her before they break for a quick lunch, sitting on the rocks in the sun to dry off. The meal isn't anything fancy, just peanut butter and banana sandwiches with grapes and homemade trail mix, but it's filling and after tucking the garbage back into the pack, she stretches out on the flat rock with her head pillowed on Killian's thigh, closing her eyes against the bright sun and listening to the gentle crash of waves against the shore.

She tells Killian the story of her father's bruised foot and his fingers find their way into her hair almost instantly. Humming happily, she smiles up at him before closing her eyes again and finishing the story as he untangles her damp locks and presses his thumbs into all the right spots, massaging along her temples and back behind her ears until she's nearly boneless with relaxation.

Rolling slowly, she drops a kiss to his thigh through the fabric of his swim shorts before pressing up to her hands and knees, grinning at him mischievously. "We should get moving again," she tells him even though at the moment she wants nothing more than to just sit here with him, looking out over the lake, maybe taking her own turn at running her fingers through his hair, maybe pressing another kiss to his thigh, higher up this time, less teasing, more purposeful.

Her thoughts must be easily visible on her face because he lifts an eyebrow and looks at her like he wants to retaliate, to get her back for every teasing gesture she's made so far today, but he doesn't, he just stands and offers his hand to help her up. "Where are we headed next, darling?" he asks as they redress and pack up the bags.

"The campsite is only about 10km north of here," she tells him as she starts the climb back up through the hole with a rope looped over her shoulder.

"Only?" he asks jokingly when she tosses the rope back down to haul up their bags.

She pulls the packs up through the opening and then calls back down to him. "Don't tell me you're tired out already."

When he emerges through the hole, she hands him his bag.

"Not tired, love, I just find it amusing that you seem to consider a 10km hike to be a trivial thing."

She laughs and refastens the straps on her backpack. "Okay, maybe that was a poor choice of words. It'll be worth it though, I promise."

He shoulders his own bag and nudges her gently. "You keep saying that."

Pinching his side, she continues walking, looking back over her shoulder at him. "That's because it's the truth."

And it really is. They spend the next few hours hiking across the mountainside, passing through valleys and over ridges, streams and small canyons with log and rope bridges. She pulls out her camera and takes pictures as they go, capturing the scenery but also sneaking candid shots of him when he isn't looking. He catches her though, snapping a picture of his ass while he climbs up a steep hill, and when she gets to the top he playfully wrestles the camera from her hand, insisting that it be his turn to take pictures, that she makes a much more stunning subject amongst the trees than he does anyway.

She relinquishes it with a half-hearted fight and does her best not to roll her eyes when he begins to take an excessive amount of pictures, requesting that she pose dramatically in a number of them. He gets a good one of her mock dangling from a tree limb near the edge of the cliff, the ground cropped out of the picture so that it looks like she's hanging over, and she insists that he also repeat it because Abi and Colin will love it.

They're less than fifteen minutes from the campsite when they come across a distant herd of wild horses on the last relatively flat plateau. Grabbing Killian's wrist, she squeezes and nods ahead, mouthing '"quietly"' to him as they inch forward to the edge of the tree line. The herd consists of nearly twenty horses grazing peacefully in the tall grass; mares and foals and a number of adolescents in a variety of colours; bays and chestnuts, roans and paints. A large blue roan stallion stands watch on a raised portion of rocky escarpment, eyes alert, ears flickering back and forth, listening for danger.

She hasn't seen wild horses out here since she was a kid of just 8 or 9 years. The sight is rare and breathtaking and she wonders if Killian knows how lucky they are to have come across it. She wants to tell him but she knows that the slightest movement or too loud a noise will spook the horses and send them galloping off, so she remains quiet and halts at the edge of the forest, taking several pictures before putting the camera away and silently, slowly sinking down to sit cross legged on the ground, content to just watch them from a distance.

Killian sits down next to her and takes her hand slowly, his fingers brushing over her wrist and palm before twining with hers and linking their hands together. Leaning against his side, she turns her head and presses her nose and lips against his shoulder, closing her eyes for a second and smiling when he kisses her forehead.

She's not sure how long they sit there watching the horses, but after a while her feet fall asleep and Killian's stomach starts to growl, so they slowly rise and quietly head back into the trail.

They end up taking the longer route to the campsite because she doesn't want to disturb the horses by trekking too close, and by the time they make the final climb up the steep hill to the pine bluff where she intends to make camp, the sun has already began its decent toward the mountains on the horizon.

The overhang is large and fairly level, the ground covered in places by thick moss and eroding soil where tree roots have anchored themselves into the rock, clinging to the side of the mountain in a show of nature's strength and resilience.

Dropping her pack to the ground she steps forward past the trees and out into the open air. The fire pit she built with her parents as a kid is still there and even after all these years the sturdy circle of rocks looks almost exactly as she remembers it. Crouching down, she shifts a loose stone back into place, and when she stands again, Killian is at her side, looking out at the surrounding wilderness.

About twenty feet past the fire pit, the cliff drops off steeply, the ground below a distant blur. She's not afraid of heights, but she's never liked getting too close to the edge – it's not the sort of fall one would survive if they got careless and went over.

The view is one that she has never been able to find an adjective to adequately describe – breathtaking, magnificent, stunning, awe-inspiring – nothing in her knowledge of the English language comes anywhere close to doing it justice. Mountains and forested hills stretch to the north and west as far as the eye can see; their campsite offering a panoramic outlook over turquoise lakes and sparkling rivers. Summer haze hangs low in the sky, blanketing the peaks of distant mountains in an almost ethereal glow, and off to the east a bald eagle drifts upwards effortlessly on a rising air current as the sinking sun casts golden light and elongated shadows over everything below.

Looping her arm around Killian's back, she hooks a thumb in the waistband of his shorts and leans into him. "See? Totally worth it, right?"

He nods and hugs her closer, his stubble catching in her hair. "I've a complaint though, love," he speaks against her temple. She can practically hear the frown in his voice, but before she can ask him to elaborate, he continues without prompting. "One night up here isn't going to be nearly enough."

He's right of course. Now that they're up here, now that it's more than just a memory, she's really not looking forward to having to head home tomorrow.

"Next time I'll make sure we have a few nights," she promises. "We can come back in early October if you want. It's even more beautiful then."

"I'd like that," he says, and then his stomach growls again and he laughs. "I guess we should get everything set up."

"You want to start the fire or put up the tent?"

He ends up heading back into the forest with the axe to gather firewood and she pulls the tent from his pack, setting it up in the mossy corner of the clearing where the ground is softer. It's a small tent, only made for two people, but the upper portion of it is crafted from a fine mesh and it's perfect for stargazing when the weather is dry. She sets up the bedding and tucks the tarp away just inside the door on the off chance that the forecast is wrong and it ends up raining. Stepping outside she zips the entrance shut to keep the bugs out, and after double checking that the lines are secure, she backs up to check her handiwork. She has to admit that it's going to be pretty damn romantic.

She's not saying that she's trying to seduce him... but she kind of is trying to seduce him.

Grinning with giddy anticipation, she transfers the most of the contents of her pack over to his, leaving her bag empty except for the food. She tosses his bag into the tent and then carries the other over to the fire, ready to get dinner started.

He eyes the bag as she approaches, clearly hungry, so she digs out a protein bar and tosses it to him so she doesn't have to rush through cooking the food. There's an old weathered log next to the fire pit and she takes a seat on it so she can grab what she needs to make dinner. The green peppers are already wrapped in foil, seasoned, stuffed, and ready to cook. Her mother had helped her prepare them last night, whipping up a flavourful mixture of brown rice, quinoa, sweet potato, and black beans to pack into the carved out bell peppers. All that's left is to wait for the fire to die down enough that she can throw them on the fold out grill with some pork and Guinness sausages.

Killian devours the protein bar and places a chocolaty kiss against her lips before heading back into the trees in search of more firewood, wanting to stockpile enough for the night before it gets dark. She shifts the logs and stirs up the slowly accumulating coals, and every time Killian returns with another pile of tinder, he steals a quick kiss, the broad smile never leaving his face. With the food on the grill, she sends him off to fetch a pot of water from the nearby stream. They still have some remaining in their canteens, but they'll want more before the night is through and the water purification tablets take an hour or so to work.

She'd thought about bringing along wine, but it would have been extra weight to carry during the hike, and while a bottle shared between them wouldn't exactly result in a drastic level of inebriation, she wants to be completely sober if they actually end up having sex tonight. She can still taste the chocolate from his kisses and she bites her lip, fighting the sudden urge to say to hell with subtly and just drag him into the tent the second he returns with the water. That's not really how she wants to go about things though, so she turns her attention back toward the fire and focuses on not burning the hell out of the food.

They end up finishing dinner as the sun sets, seated on a blanket on the hard ground with their backs against the log, hazy pink fading to muted thistle as the sun disappears behind the mountains in a blaze of fiery orange. The valley of lakes and lowlands below rests peacefully, the day's earlier breeze dwindling with the light, the still air cool but comfortable as it clings nearly motionless to the mountainside.

Somewhat reluctantly they rise to pack away the food and the garbage, securing it by rope from a tree on the side of the clearing opposite their tent. She leaves out a couple foil wrapped s'mores for later and then heads into the tent to change, no longer wanting to sit around with her bathing suit beneath her clothes. Killian, ever the gentleman, remains by the fire, insisting that he'll take his turn when she's finished.

She can still see him through the upper mesh of the tent as she changes and she watches him tend to the fire while she switches to leggings and a thin sweater, deciding to forego her bra. She freshens up her deodorant and dry swallows her birth control pill before grabbing the speaker with her iPod and returning to the fire.

She sits the speaker on the log as she approaches and then wraps her arms around him from behind, linking her fingers over his stomach and pressing her face to his back, breathing in the earthy scent of him, breathing in sweat and firewood and nature. "Tent's all yours if you want to change," she murmurs against his shoulder blade, smiling as his hands settle over hers, warm and rough.

He's still for a moment before he lets go of her hands and turns in her arms to face her, his hands settling again, low on her hips this time, fingers creeping beneath the knitted fabric of her sweater to play against her skin. "I suppose I should," he says, reaching up to comb through the tangled mess of her hair. She hadn't bothered to pack a brush or a mirror and she's fairly certain her hair looks like a bit of a rat's nest, but he just smiles softly in response to the flicker of insecurity that crosses her face. "You're beautiful like this, love; all natural and wild," he trails a thumb over the freckles on her nose, dragging it lower to catch her bottom lip before cupping her jaw and bending to capture her lips in a sweet kiss that has her aching, melting into him while simultaneously cursing him silently because _goddamnit_, she's supposed to be the one seducing him here.

He pulls back after several long moments, reluctantly leaving her side with sparkling eyes to disappear into the tent, and god, she just wants to follow him, but the fire is still burning high and the stars are beginning to appear and waiting a little while longer certainly won't kill her.

She takes a seat on the blanket and turns on the music, opting for a playlist of acoustic rock and mellow folk music, resting against the log and tilting her head back so she can look up at the stars as the sky fades to black, cloudless and moonless, tapping her foot along lazily with the beat.

Killian rejoins her a minute later in flannel pyjama pants and a thin henley, sinking down to sit next to her and immediately taking her hand, his thumb riding the peaks and valleys of her knuckles as his eyes flicker over her face, studying her intently, his head tilted and his lips pressed together in an almost smile.

"What?" she asks, squeezing his hand lightly, confused by the quizzical look he's giving her. "Do I have something on my face?" She swipes the back of her free hand over her lips and he chuckles softly.

"Nothing of the sort, love, it's just... when I was changing, I had to dig past your clothes to get to my own and I couldn't help but notice your birth control pills atop the pile." He lifts a teasing eyebrow. "Planning to have your way with me later?"

"Maybe." She laughs and lifts his hand to her mouth, brushing her lips over his knuckles in a smiling kiss. "If that's all right with you?"

He nods slowly, "Aye, Emma, that'd quite all right with me," and she sucks in a deep breath and releases it shakily, tightening her fingers around his, bouncing her leg and clenching her thighs against the sudden tension in the air, thick with want and the very real urge to climb into his lap and have him this second.

Kissing him is unbelievably tempting, but she knows if she does she won't be able to stop – that with the way he's looking at her right now, all hungry-eyed as anticipation sparks between them, palpable and electric, it'll all happen way too quickly. And that's not what she wants. She wants the slow burn of fiery impatience crawling through her veins as they take their time setting a deliberate, nearly torturous pace.

So she releases his hand and bites her lip as she reaches for the foil wrapped s'mores. "Later," she says with determination, nodding and trying to force herself to believe it. "Right now we should enjoy the stars and make with the melting of chocolaty goodness."

Later ends up being about as long as it takes to heat and devour the s'mores, and this time when he looks at her and she asks if she has something on her face, he answers by leaning in and sucking the chocolate from her lower lip in a kiss that sets fire to her blood.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: It's been a long time since I updated, I know. Life happened, migraines happened, the muses didn't feel like cooperating, and the plans I had to write and post this chapter quickly, just kind of disappeared. I know a lot of you have been worried that I'm going to give up on or abandon this story (there have been quite a few anon messages on Tumblr), and I want to tell you not to. It may take me some time between updates, but rest assured that this fic will never be abandoned. I have an ending in mind and I _will_ get to it.

All right, lovelies, here's the chapter I know you've all been waiting anxiously for. This one is rated M for a reason!

* * *

Emma clings to Killian's shirt lightly; the thin cotton bunched between her fingers as she rises up to her knees and presses into him, the warmth of the fire at her back and the warmth of him at her front. His left hand is gentle in her hair and the other rests at the small of her back beneath the fabric of her shirt while they kiss; his tongue and teeth teasing against her lower lip, softer now than before.

And then he's pulling back, breaking the kiss, and she chases after his lips, nowhere near done with him, huffing in frustration when he cups her cheek and his thumb comes to rest against her parted lips, effectively stopping her from kissing him again.

"Patience for a moment, love," he requests, his tone serious even as he smiles. It sobers her quickly and she sits up a little straighter, backing up to meet his eyes in the light of the dwindling fire. He takes her hands, linking their fingers together, and her breath catches because he's looking at her again like she's his everything and all she can do is swallow thickly and nod silently for him to continue.

"Before we continue, I've something I need to say," he begins, squeezing her hands, "something I've wanted to say for quite a while now, and I want you to understand that there is no pressure whatsoever for you to say it back, all right, love?"

She nods dumbly, blinking at him, knowing what comes next, but still nowhere near prepared for it.

"I'm telling you this now because I want you to know before the evening progresses any further. I want you to know that _this_? You and I? It will be so much more than just sex, darling. We'll be making love, so it's only fitting that I tell you how much I love you first."

She wants to smile at him, but instead she ends up biting her lip to stop it from quivering, sitting back down on her heels and trying to remember how to breathe.

"I love you, Emma," he whispers, pulling her toward him so that her knees are wedged between his and she's close enough to feel the heat of him once more. "I love all that you are, all that you have been, and all that you will be. I think I might have even loved you before I met you."

She crinkles her nose at that, her brow furrowing, and he breathes out a laugh. "It's not as preposterous as it sounds, love. Your parents aren't exactly silent when it comes to their love for you, and I suppose it rubbed off on me a little bit. I'd seen more pictures than I can count and heard dozens of stories in the months leading up to our first meeting, and then there you were, stumbling through my door, a vision in wrinkled wool, soaking wet and cursing up a storm. I'm not sure if you noticed, love, but once the confusion cleared, I couldn't stop smiling."

She nods, and the smile she was hoping for moments ago, finally rises to her lips. "I noticed. I thought you were a smug bastard." She shifts her fingers against his so that their palms touch. "You turned out to be so much more."

He chuckles at that, a warm smile playing at his lips. "As did you, darling. Every preconceived notion I had; you exceeded them by far. I was woefully unprepared for the reality of you, Emma. The beauty of your exterior is one thing, but your soul? That is another entirely. There is so much more to you than meets the eye. You're strong and stubborn and perhaps a little standoffish at first, but beneath that you are unfailingly kind and patient and understanding, even if you don't believe it sometimes."

Squeezing his hands, she blinks back tears, biting her lip again because god, when he gets going, he doesn't hold back, and the things that he says, the way he makes her feel, it's breaking her apart and putting her back together all at the same time.

And maybe he notices the set of her jaw as she loses the battle with her quivering chin and the moisture in her eyes, because his next words are lighter; a reprieve from weighty emotion and the salty tears that slide over her cheeks.

"There are a great many things that I love about you, Emma; including but not limited to how adorably cranky you are in the morning when you've yet to drink your coffee." She rolls her eyes and sniffles as she lets go of his hand to whack him lightly in the chest. "And I quite fancy you, even when you're rolling your eyes and physically assaulting me," he adds, wagging his eyebrows as he retakes her hand, bringing it to his parted lips, his breath hot against her knuckles.

"Killian..." she starts, considering her next words. She's tempted to say something terribly cheesy, maybe tell him to shut up and kiss her, and he must read it on her face, because his lips press together in a poorly suppressed grin.

"You'd prefer if I stopped talking and kissed you now, aye?"

She nods, licking her lips, anticipation restless in her fingertips as she reaches for him again, curling her hand in his hair as he leans forwards to kiss her.

He still tastes of chocolate and marshmallow, sticky sweetness and the delicious heat of his tongue as it curls around hers. She inhales sharply when he nips playfully at her lower lip, rising up on her knees again to press him against the log at his back, finally giving into the urge to climb onto his lap as he shifts and stretches out his legs to accommodate her, ever the gentleman, still holing her hand to steady her movements.

And it's not like they haven't been in some approximation of this position before, but still, when she settles her weight down over his hips and thighs, rocking against him with an involuntary roll of her hips that she both doesn't want to, and is powerless to stop, he swallows hard with a shudder, breaking the kiss to gaze at her with eyes full of wonder.

There's something in his expression that says he still can't believe that this is actually going to happen, so she cups his cheek and bumps her nose against his with a small smile before pressing her lips firmly to his once more. Dropping her hand to the open collar of his henley, she snakes her fingers inside to twist in his chest hair as her palm rests over the beat of his thundering heart for several long, still seconds.

And then he's moving again, kissing her with purpose, his right hand locked in the tangle of her hair as his left releases hers and slips beneath the hem of her sweater, fingers spread wide and warm as they ghost a teasing path up her spine, infuriatingly slow until she whines against his lips in a wordless plea that almost instantly has him dropping his hand to cup her ass. His fingers dig into the thin fabric of her leggings, his grip tight as he presses the solid ridge of his erection up against her, dropping his mouth to her neck and breathing out her name and a curse. "Emma, bloody hell, love."

With a grin, she trails her hands over his torso, mapping the strong lines of his chest and abdomen through the fabric as slowly as she can manage before her patience wears thin and it's all she can do not to rip the shirt as she tugs it upwards, forcing him to lean back and let go of her so she can pull it over his head.

She drops it to the side and his hands fall to her hips as she instantly returns her touch to his chest, fingers combing through the dark hair, crisp and thick, and god, she can't get enough of it, of him. And now it's her turn to lower her mouth to his neck, nosing the line of his jaw as she touches him, fingers inching lower while she brushes her lips over the tense cords of his neck, open-mouthed, hot and teasing. Tasting him, salt and sweat on her tongue, she hums against his skin and smiles against the collarbone beneath her teeth as she worries a mark into the spot where it meets his shoulder.

_Mine_, she thinks, her fingers exploring the strength of his ribcage, and maybe it's a little bit possessive, a little bit animalistic, marking him like this, sucking the brand of her teeth and her lips and her tongue into his flesh, but she doesn't care, and he certainly doesn't seem to be complaining, because the act draws a low growl from deep within his chest. A growl that rumbles through him and into her, arousal prickling over her skin, drawing her nipples up tight as heat pools between her thighs.

Sucking in a breath, she shifts against him, against the solid press of his erection, unmistakable beneath the barriers of their clothing. She pulls back to catch his eyes in the warm light of the fire, taking note of the way gold flickers with black as the night and growing arousal push the blue from his irises.

He's breathtaking and she draws her bottom lip between her teeth, sucking on it as she studies him, as she takes a moment to sit back and slow down, enjoying the way his lips part on a soft smile, and the steady rise and fall of his bare chest beneath her hands.

His thumbs press idle circles into her hipbones and when he reaches for the hem of her sweater, bunching it up, she lifts her arms so he can draw the garment over her head.

The night air is cooler than she expected, a light breeze wrapping around them, caressing her skin, but the shiver that courses through her frame has nothing to do with the wind and everything to do with the heat in his gaze as he looks at her. She's bare before him from the waist up, and it's not as if he's never seen her like this before, but he's got that look in his eyes again; the one that terrifies and thrills her all at the same time, and it's almost a plea when she circles her fingers around his wrists and tugs his hands back to her hips. "Killian, touch me."

"Where would you like me to touch you, darling?" he whispers, a crooked grin rising to his lips as his hands remain stubborn and unmoving against the bare skin of her hips.

She rolls her eyes and groans. "I swear to god, Killian, I'm not above punching you."

He just shrugs his shoulders as if to say that maybe he wouldn't mind that all too much, and she releases his wrists and shifts her weight, rising up as if she means to stand and walk away. Her bluff must work, because his face falls and his grip tightens as he loops an arm around her waist to keep her from moving.

"Apologies, love, you know I like to tease," he offers with a pouting half smile.

Sighing, she settles back into the warmth of his arms. "I think we've both had enough teasing, don't you? Let's save it for another time when I don't want you quite so badly."

Poor choice of words, she knows – she's not sure she'll ever stop wanting him with such startling ferocity – but it seems he's wise enough not to comment on it, and it's with a wicked grin that he bows his head and lowers his mouth to her breast. His lips wrap around her nipple, sucking, the heat of his tongue swirling as he draws her closer, pressing her down against him as he rocks his hips upward again, drawing a gasp from her lips.

"Gods, love, you're beautiful," he breathes against her sternum as he trails kisses to her other breast before tugging her nipple gently between his teeth. The scrape of his beard is rough against her skin, harsh in comparison to the liquid heat of his tongue, and she squirms in an unsteady rhythm against the hardness between her legs, already slippery with desire, craving more and wanting less, cursing the layers that still remain in a maddening barrier between his skin and hers. They need to move this along. _Now._

"Killian," she whines with her hand in his hair. She'd pleading this time – hell, she'll cop to begging if it gets her what she wants, and he chuckles, allowing her nipple to pop from between his lips as lifts his head to meet her eyes.

"Shall I take you to bed now?" he asks, his fingers dipping just below the elastic of her leggings. "We can stay out here if you'd prefer, love, but with what I imagine we both have in mind; a softer surface might prove favourable."

She's scrambling to her feet and standing almost before he finishes speaking, offering her hand as she glances toward the tent. The firelight is nice, but he's right, the ground here is rocky and hard and the only reason she's stayed put this long, is because she was perched atop a very different kind of hardness.

He takes a moment to gather their shirts and then he's standing and clasping her hand in his own as he pulls her in for a heated kiss, all tongue and little finesse, and the only reason she's able to pull back, is because she really does want to move this to a more comfortable location.

"Come on." She tugs on his hand and drags him toward the tent, impatient and miles past ready, cursing the stubborn zipper as she opens the entrance and crawls in, immediately kicking off her boots.

There's no room to stand in here, not without ducking or being bent near in half, but she tells herself that hardly matters as she roots through the bag for the small camping lantern she knows she packed. When she double checks each compartment and still can't find it, she curses. She doesn't want to do this in the dark. She wants to see all of him, watch his face and look into his eyes no matter how terrifying it might be, and maybe she wants him to see her too, read on her face what she can't bring herself to say just yet, and she just wants this to be perfect, but if she can't find that damned...

Her internal panic grinds to an abrupt halt when a light flickers on and pale yellow warmth floods her vision.

"Looking for this?" Killian asks, holding up the lantern with a gentle smile.

She nods slowly, feeling a little stupid, sitting there shirtless in a panic. Maybe if she'd just stopped and looked around, she would have remembered that she left the damned thing sitting next to the entrance of the tent.

He returns the lantern to the ground and he's already almost touching her, tight confines and all, but he shifts a little closer before lying down on his back and holding out his hand. She takes it with a shaky smile, settling down next to him on her side with her head propped up in her free hand.

"Sorry," she sighs, lowering their joint hands to his chest before meeting his eyes. "I just want this to be perfect." It's an admission that comes easier than expected. "We've waited so long and you're kind of amazing and I just-"

Pushing up on his elbow, he silences her with a tender kiss before leaning back against the bedding and giving her a reassuring smile, his eyes never once leaving her face despite the fact that she's still topless and on full display. "Emma, this is already beyond perfect. Nothing will change that, all right, love?"

She's about to apologise again, but he turns to his side and gives her a look that has her swallowing her words. _Right__.__There's nothing to apologise for. _

So she kisses him instead, rolling to her back when he lets go of her hand to trail his fingers from the hollow of her throat to the valley of her breasts, leaning over her, pressed to her side as he kisses her until she can scarcely breathe. And then he retreats from her lips, dragging a smile over her collarbone as his thumb and forefinger twist with her nipple, pulling it taut while he shifts to press his length against her thigh.

And suddenly she's right back where she was when they were still by the campfire, impatient and wanting, _needing_ to do something about the growing ache between her legs. Except she's never been very good with words in this sort of situation, never really been one to explicitly state what she wants, so instead she grabs his hand in her own and shoves it downward to where she's reasonably certain her arousal has already seeped through her underwear to dampen the crotch of her leggings.

"Fuck, Emma." His hoarse curse confirms it as he strokes her through the fabric and drags his teeth over the curve over her shoulder. "I've yet to properly touch you and you're already bloody well half way there."

She's not sure if it's an accusation or a praise, and she's sure as hell not sure if it's laughter or a sob that escapes her lips, but she presses her legs together, trapping his touch. "Maybe you should-" he grinds the heel of his hand against her clit and she temporarily loses the rest of her suggestion to the gasp of air that enters her lungs, "touch me," she breathes out, adding "properly" as an afterthought.

And then he's wiggling his hand free and sitting up, the shape of him clear through thin flannel even in the dim light of the lantern, and she wants to reach for him, wants to feel him in her hand again, fingers wrapping around his girth like they did that time weeks ago in the shower, but he's already grabbing for the waistband of her leggings, hooking his thumbs into her underwear as well, peeling them both from her legs in a frustrating show of patience that ends with her clothing, socks included, piled neatly at the foot of the bedrolls.

When she's finally bare before him, she thinks he might shed his own pants and rejoin her on the blankets, but he leaves them on and kneels between her legs instead, leaning over her with his hands braced on either side of her ribcage, his eyes focused on her face.

He presses a kiss to her lips, but pulls back before she can properly respond, and then grinning, he drops another kiss to her right shoulder, then on the left, half way between her collarbone and breast, before tracing a line down her sternum and sideways across her ribcage. He crosses back over and pauses with his lips pressed just above her belly button and she knows she said something about no teasing, but his breath is hot as he scrapes his stubble against her stomach and somehow she can't quite bring herself to scold him. Or, you know, do anything but stare into his eyes as he looks up at her and licks his lips.

"You remember that morning in the apartment, Emma?" He tilts his lips down to speak her name against her skin and she shudders, nodding because she doesn't trust her voice to speak. "I still have a difficult time believing you had the gall to do that; to stand naked in my shower, touching yourself, knowing full well that I could hear you through the door." He shakes his head and his beard rasps over the sensitive skin at the crease of her thigh. "I thought I was dreaming, darling, at the sight of you standing there, dripping wet and holding out your hand."

"Really?" she breathes out, itching to touch him, itching to move and force him to reach his goddamn point already.

"A man would be hard-pressed to think otherwise, love."

"Well, it wasn't a dream, was it?"

"Perhaps not in every definition of the word, no, though the memory _has_ frequented me almost nightly, and I have to admit, because I'm certain you're hoping I'll get to the point fairly soon, that I've been dying to taste you ever since."

She threads her fingers in his hair and it's a struggle not to push him down her body, not to force that teasing mouth of his between her legs.

"Would you let me do that, darling?" he asks, dragging his mouth and his nose over her belly button, inhaling as he shuffles backwards to lie between her legs. His shoulders spread her thighs wide and his left hand curls under her ass, tilting her hips as he presses a feather light kiss to the inside of her thigh.

"Hmm?" he hums against her skin, and she groans, a little bit irritated and a lot turned on, because one would think that this sort of question doesn't actually require a verbal answer, that the way her hips practically gravitate towards his mouth would be confirmation enough, but he seems to require one, so she grits her teeth and glares down at where he's waiting smugly between her thighs. "Yes," she chokes out. "You'd damn well better."

A single puff of laughter passes his lips, hot against her folds, and he grins at her before lowering his head and pressing his tongue right where she wants it. Her hips jump at the contact as he drags his tongue along the length of her, his head cradled between her thighs. "Fuck." He holds her steady, holds her to his face, though she obviously has no intention of leaving, not with the way her world floats away while his tongue scribes magical, sinful runes against her flesh until she loses track of time, loses track of everything but him and the insistent tug of pleasure threatening to pull her apart.

_Oh, fucking god_. She shudders and looks up at the starlit sky through the mesh of the tent. Letting go of his hair, she reaches for the blankets instead, her fingers tight in the slippery thin material of the sleeping bag when he focuses that delightful mouth solely on her clit, his tongue swirling, lips closing, sucking as he curls two thick fingers into her heat, pressing, pulling, flexing, until she can't take it anymore and her world comes crashing down, a wordless cry on her lips as her hips rise and everything shatters.

When she finally opens her eyes, finally remembers how to breathe, she looks down to find him resting with his chin against the hollow of her hip, his eyes watching her, wide and filled with wonder. A soft smile curves to his lips and he nuzzles against her skin. "You're a goddess, love," he whispers reverently. "Absolutely glorious. I could spend an eternity with my face between your thighs and never tire of you."

She bites her lip and reaches for him. "Killian, get up here." It's a demand, but she doesn't care. Right now there's another part of him she'd rather have between her thighs.

He grins wickedly at her and places a wet kiss at the crease of her hip, a kiss that has her stomach muscles quivering as he pushes up to all fours and crawls over her. She reaches for him instantly, drawing him down for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips as she reaches out to cup him through the fabric of his pyjama pants with a firm squeeze.

He grunts into her mouth, a broken moan as she rubs her palm over his length and pushes against his chest. "Lie down." It's a request this time, spoken softly against his lips, and he abides, rolling to his side, and then to his back as she sits up to kneel beside him.

She wants to tease him, maybe torture him a little bit like he did her, but she's nowhere near as patient as he is and the bulge in his pants is practically screaming her name, so she reaches for the waistband, carefully lifting it and drawing the fabric downward.

Working as slowly as she possibly can, wanting to savour this, she removes his flannel pyjama pants and his socks before running her hands up over hairy calves and thighs, returning for his boxers, her breath increasing with anticipation as she removes the last barrier and casts it carelessly aside.

He watches her silently, affectionately, and it's not until she wraps her hand around the silken steel of his shaft and bends to press her lips to his stomach, that he makes a sound, sucking in a sharp breath. Her hair cascades over her shoulders; a golden curtain in the low light, blocking his face from view – she wants to watch him though, so she twists it out of the way and tucks it behind her ear as she moves her hand over him in a firm stroke that has him biting back a groan and reaching for her. "Emma, please."

His hand curls over her hip, gliding up her waist, and this time when she nips at his hipbone, breathing out over him and teasing his length, wanting to taste him as he tasted her, he tugs at her arm with a growl. A warning. "_Emma_... some other time, darling," he rasps out.

She blinks up at him. Oh. _Oh._ Right.

Straightening, she swings a leg over his hip to straddle his thighs, sitting just south of where he quite obviously wants her, the impressive jut of his cock surrounded by dark hair. And just _fuck_, because he's gorgeous and the sight of him alone has her ridiculously wet.

"Give me your hands." It's a request that she's only too happy to comply with.

Linking their fingers together over her thighs, she smiles down at him. "Hi."

"Hello, love." He quirks an eyebrow, and she thinks that maybe she should come up with something a little more clever to say, but then he's pulling her forward to settle over his length, the heavy ridge of his cock pressed hot against her folds, sandwiched between their bodies, and any response she might have devised instantly dies on her lips.

"Uhn," she breathes out, rocking her hips, dragging herself slowly over him. It's all friction, slippery heat, perfection, and, "god," he's not even inside her yet.

He looks about as speechless as she feels; his eyes dark and wide, his fingers clasped tightly in her own as he practically vibrates beneath her.

She grinds against him again. She can't sit still. Not like this. Not with her heart thundering in her ears and molten desire pulsing, gathering at the hollow ache between her legs. "Bloody hell, Emma," he whispers, awe in his voice and in his eyes as he loses the battle with his hips and rocks up against her, slick and hard.

"Fuck." She grips his hands tighter, nails biting into his knuckles as she sways forward, dizzy with lust. "Killian," she whimpers. "I need you."

He releases one of her hands and reaches out to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. "I'm yours for the taking, darling." He lifts his head then and draws her down with a gentle hand at the back of her neck, meeting her lips in a heated kiss as she shifts against him, forward and up, and then back and down, taking him in with a gasp. He fills her, stretches her with his thickness, slowly settles deep inside her, and she squeezes her eyes shut against sudden tears, against the unexpected urge to weep at the perfection of it all.

Breaking the kiss, she drops her face to his shoulder, her lips to his skin, breathing, panting really, as she tries to compose herself in the wake of nearly overwhelming emotion. She'd expected pleasure, something profound, sure, but (and at the risk of sounding unbearably sappy), she hadn't expected to feel quite so complete.

"Look at me, love," he urges softly, running a soothing hand over her spine, his lips pressed to her hair as he speaks, remaining still beneath her and inside her. It takes her a second, but she does, sitting up enough to meet his eyes, to feel him shift within her. And god, she not usually the type to tear up in this sort of situation, but she blinks and moisture slips over her cheek. She moves her hand to dash it away, but he gets there first, his thumb intercepting the droplet and gently brushing it aside.

"Are you all right?" he asks, concern evident in the tone of his voice, and she doesn't think that she's ever loved him quite as much as she does in this moment.

Nodding, she smiles. "Never been better." It's the honest truth and the next words that leave her mouth are probably the cheesiest ones she's ever dared to speak aloud, but she presses her hand to his chest, above the beating of his heart, and says them anyway. "I believe you said something about making love?"

His grin is enough to light up the night. "That I did, darling." And then he's wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight as he flips their positions, lowering her gently to her back on the sleeping bag. He covers her, blankets her with his body, warm and solid above her, within her, and she draws him down with her fingers at his ears for a kiss. She might not be ready to _tell_ him she loves him, but if nothing else, she's determined to _show_ him.

Bending her knees and hooking an ankle over his thigh, she rocks against him, requesting action with her hips. The weight of him inside her (heavy and at rest) is nice, but she wants movement and the delicious friction that comes with it, as he withdraws and enters her over and over again.

He complies instantly, his hips rocking in a slow rhythm that matches the barely audible hum of music still playing by the campfire; dulcet tones of acoustic guitar mixing with the velvety warmth of harmonica. There's a push and pull to it all; to the music, to him, and to the breathtaking drag of his cock inside her. A visceral thrum spirals through her veins, curling into her stomach, pooling between her thighs, hot and frantic with the need to be closer to him, to press every inch of her skin to his. And she does, tries to at least, drawing her knees up to press against his sides in a move that has them gasping against each others lips, his hips jumping, faltering for a second before driving forward with steady intention.

She can tell he wants to go slow, to savour this, but she's too worked up, needs him too badly, so she reaches down to grab his ass, pulling him to her tighter, faster. "Harder," she whispers against his lips, and with a low groan, he rips his mouth from hers, dropping his face to the crook of her neck, mouth open, tongue hot against her skin as the hair on his chest drags over her nipples. "Gods, Emma." His hips slam against hers forcefully, fulfilling her request.

A shudder runs through her and into him as she stumbles that much closer to the edge, her muscles tensing, heat building, as she prepares to fall for a second time. He shifts then, freeing a hand from its support beneath her shoulder, clearly intending to rise up and reach for where their joined, to help her along, but she doesn't need it.

Shaking her head, she wraps her arms around the strength of his back and pulls him down, closer, tighter, needing the weight of him over her, craving the contact it offers as their hearts beat together in rapid cadence with their breath and their hips. "Just keep," she pants as he thrusts into her again, harder this time, hitting that spot that has her eyes growing wet as she struggles to finish her sentence, "like that. Right there. I only need you."

It's not quite an admission of love, but it's something, it has to be, because he buries himself to the hilt between her thighs and stops moving. Watching her with soft eyes, he searches her face before shaking his head as if he still can't quite believe that this is happening. "I love you," he whispers, and hearing him say it for the second time, especially like this, it somehow feels even more significant, but she doesn't have much time to dwell on it because in an instant he's moving again, picking up right where he left off, hips thrusting with purpose.

She holds his gaze until she can't anymore, until her eyes snap shut and her head falls back and all she can do is feel. She finds his hand again, blindly intertwining their fingers as his head drops back to her neck and she cradles it there, heat and desire, throbbing and insistent, thrumming through her veins to centre between her legs.

With his hips sharp against her own, he pushes her to the edge, takes her there in a dizzying rush of skin and sweat and love and pleasure, and when she falls, headlong into bliss, she holds him tight and drags him with her, the heavy pulse of him hot between her legs.

Resurfacing takes a moment... or five, and she doesn't bother opening her eyes just yet, wanting to catalogue and tuck away all the little details for safe keeping. Details like the way he inhales when she exhales, their chests moving in tandem, sweat slicked and pressed together as he rests over her, a heavy blanket that she has no desire to shed. Her thighs quiver, aftershocks still rattling through her system, and she slowly lowers her feet back to the ground. He twitches inside her at the movement, still half-erect, and it sends a shiver racing up her spine. He hums against her neck and she can feel his lips curve into a smile against her skin as he shifts his hips in a lazy thrust that has her clutching his hand tighter.

"Killian," she breathes out, and whether it's a reprimand or a plea, she's not sure.

He chuckles and nuzzles up her neck, and into her hair, his lips against her ear when he speaks in a soft whisper. "Am I too heavy, love? I can move if you wish."

Releasing his hand, she runs her palms over his back, pressing her fingers into strong muscle as she traces her way up each side of his spine. "Mmmm, no, stay right where you are."

"As milady wishes." He lifts his head, but other than that remains exactly as she requested. She can feel him watching her, so she finally opens her eyes and blinks up at him. "Hi."

"Hello, beautiful."

She giggles, unbelievably happy, sated and warm below him, and he has to press his hips to hers quickly to prevent his softened length from leaving her. A trickle of warmth escapes, his essence hot and wet as it trails down the crease of her ass. She tightens her thighs against his hips at the feel of it, her nerve endings humming, still calling for more.

"We're going to make a mess if we remain this way much longer, darling," he states, bumping his nose against hers with a smile.

She snorts. The fabric beneath her ass is damp and she grins up at him, biting her lower lip. "We kind of already did." She pulls him down for a kiss then, a slow and lazy brush of lips that lasts for several long moments before she reluctantly pulls away and nods toward the backpack. "There's a towel and container of baby wipes in there somewhere."

He reaches for it easily without moving from above her or within her (the tent isn't that big after all), and it only takes him a moment to hand her the towel and locate the baby wipes before he's pressing another kiss to her lips and reluctantly withdrawing from between her legs.

Shifting the towel under her hips to catch the worst of the mess, glad that these sleeping bags are more or less waterproof, she watches him quickly clean up and tug on his boxers. She expects him to hand her the package of baby wipes then, but he doesn't. Instead he returns to her side and smiles at her softly as he presses a fresh wipe between her legs. The damp cloth is cool against her still sensitive flesh and if sleep wasn't already clinging to the edges of her awareness, she might find the gentle touch with which he wipes her clean to be incredibly arousing.

When he's done, he presses a kiss to her cheek and unzips the side of the joint sleeping bags. "Get settled, darling. I'm just going to make sure the fire's out and pack everything away for the night."

She shuffles into the warmth of the bedding, not bothering with clothing, everything aching pleasantly as she reaches for her phone. "Hurry back," she urges.

He shoves his bare feet into his boots and unzips the tent. "I'll be but a moment."

He's quite the sight, heading out into the dark in nothing but unlaced boots and wrinkled boxers, and she can't quite stop the giggle that bubbles up to her smiling lips. A long day's hike and a breathtaking tumble in bed have left her body tired, her limbs heavy, but her heart feels light, buoyant even, and her cheeks ache in the best way possible with a grin she has absolutely no desire to push from her face.

Unlocking her phone, she checks the time, surprised to find that it's nearly midnight. She sets an alarm for 3:30am, wanting to wake up for a while to catch the meteor shower at its peak, and then she thumbs over a text from Ruby, time stamped nearly an hour ago.

Rolling her eyes at the message** – SOOOOOOO?! WAS THERE B===D ? HUH? TELL ME! ;) ;) ;) –** she shakes her head with a laugh. God, Ruby really doesn't have any boundaries (or tact) at all.

Belle's message is a much less obnoxious **– How'd the date go? –** and as Killian returns to the tent, Emma tucks the phone into the netting behind her head, telling herself she'll get back to her friends in the morning.

He toes off his boots and she eyes him appreciatively as he drops his boxers and crawls naked into the sleeping bag beside her, zipping it shut behind him. His brows knit together as he reaches for her. "What are you smiling at?"

She hums contentedly and wiggles to press herself against his side, half draped over him with her chin resting next to her hand on his chest. "Just you, mostly."

"Mostly?" There's a hint of teasing indignation in his voice, as if he believes it preposterous for her to be smiling at anything but him, and his hand curls over her hip to settle against the slope of her ass, holding her in a possessive embrace against his side.

She laughs, her breasts pressing against his ribcage as mirth shakes its way through her frame at the disgruntled look on his face. "Actually, I guess '_mostly_' still has pretty much everything to do with you." She nuzzles her nose against his chest hair with a happy sigh and a kiss. "Ruby sent me a text asking if there was dick."

He raises an eyebrow, suppressing a grin. "Well, that's awfully brash of her. And just what was your response, love?"

She struggles to stop giggling long enough to actually get the words out, and she does manage eventually, after her jaw cracks with the force of a lengthy yawn, that is. "I didn't reply. I'll scold her in the morning." She finds his hand beneath the blankets and laces their fingers together. "Right now I just want to snuggle up with you and get a few hours of sleep before we have to be up again."

His question is unspoken but she hears it loud and clear all the same. "There's a meteor shower," she explains quietly, as she tucks her knee between his thighs, settling into his warmth. "I thought we'd get up and watch it."

"If that's the case, I suppose we'd better get some rest." Smiling, he fights a yawn of his own as he relinquishes her hand for just long enough to reach out and switch off the lantern.

Darkness closes in around them as he finds her fingers again, and she lifts her chin to catch the faint caress of starlight on his skin, the constellations above reflected in the slate of his sleepy eyes.

She has to stretch to press a lazy kiss to his lips, and when she settles back down with her head on his shoulder, another yawn fighting its way past her lips, his hand tightens on her waist.

Slumber comes to her quickly and the last thing she recalls before closing her eyes, is the warm press of Killian's whispered "I love you," against her temple.

* * *

She wakes, still hazy with sleep, not to her alarm, but to the ghost of Killian's fingers tracing lazy circles around her nipple. His palm cups her breast, his arm solid and warm across her torso as he holds her with her back pressed knee to shoulder against his front.

Heat pools at the apex of her thighs as he twists her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She doesn't open her eyes just yet though, doesn't need to, to know that it's still the middle of the night. Instead she keeps them closed; her body lax in his arms, breath even, feigning sleep, content and more than a little curious to see how far he'll take this.

The solid length of his erection rests hot against her ass cheek and it's a struggle to remain still, to fight the urge to grind back against him.

His hand leaves her breast then, coming up to sweep her hair to the side, and it's all she can do to remain still when his lips fall to her neck, his mouth open, tongue hot against her skin. His fingers return to her chest to twist her other nipple into a matching peak, and she grits her teeth against the moan that threatens to slip past her lips.

"I know you're awake, love," he whispers against the shell of her ear, his scruff dragging over the side of her neck.

She sighs, hoping it sounds sleepy, but keeps her breathing relatively even, not ready to bite. Not yet.

Another pull at her nipple and then his hand is moving lower, his palm flat, his touch teasing as he draws it over her ribcage, slowly across her hip, and down her thigh. Shifting behind her, he presses his length more fully against the crease of her ass, his fingers dipping between her thighs, several inches below where she's now almost desperate to have them.

But still she doesn't move.

"Are you certain you're not awake, Emma?" His voice is dark and honeyed as he nips at her shoulder, and god knows how, but she still doesn't move.

Killian is quiet for several long moments, fingers motionless as his thumb circles over her inner thigh. "Bloody shame, that," he whispers, and then he's withdrawing his touch.

He makes it to her hip before her fingers close around his wrist and she's pushing his hand back between her legs. Chuckling, he cups her mound lightly, too high this time, still not where she wants it. She tries to push his hand into action, but he remains infuriatingly still. "Killian," she whines.

He laughs again and presses a feather light kiss to her neck. "Yes, darling?"

Arching her back, she drives her hips against his hardness, taking pleasure in the way he grunts helplessly against her skin. "I'm awake," she insists. "Now do something about it."

He drops his hand lower, his fingers delving between her folds to find her clit, and she feels him shudder against her back at the wetness he finds there. "Gods, love." He circles the nub slowly and breathes out against her ear, his hips bucking against her ass. "I need you."

She arches her back again, shifting enough this time that his cock slips to rest between her thighs, gliding easily through the slippery arousal that's gathered there. "Then have me."

Sliding through the slickness between her thighs, he coats himself in her wetness, thrusting lightly, teasing her entrance, but passing it by with each maddening tilt of his hips.

Groaning in frustration, she bites her lip. _Fine. If that's the way he wants to play it..._

Timing it carefully, she allows him a few more teasing passes, before suddenly changing the angle of her hips and forcing him to enter her on the next thrust. She feels his teeth bite into her shoulder when it happens, a sharp inhale followed by a shaky exhale as he fills her, stretching her, heavy and thick, straining hard against the front wall of her passage. She moans at the perfection of it, how he's pressed exactly where she wants him. Now she just needs him to move.

He places a soothing kiss over the indentations from his teeth and stills completely, tense at her back, and she groans because no, no no no, she needs him to moooove. Fire licks up her spine and she clenches around him. "Move, Killian, damnit!" It's a plea and a demand and when he doesn't heed it, she tightens around him again, huffing in frustration. She knew things would be intense between them, had anticipated it almost from the start, but she hadn't expect to feel quite this level of desperation.

"Easy love," he soothes as his fingers jump back into action on her clit, drawing leisurely patterns that only serve to heighten the burn in her veins. "Slow and steady," he speaks against her ear, tugging her back against his chest with his other arm beneath her, wrapped around her. His knees come up, tucking in behind hers, and it's only when he's pressed against her, front to back, as fully as possible, that he finally begins to move within her.

He doesn't really withdraw and push back in, this position and how tightly their bodies are pressed together doesn't allow for it, but each gentle rock of his hips has him hitting her just right, dragging over that spot that has her seeing stars and clutching tightly at his wrist. Over and over again, he's wrapped around her, within her, his fingers still circling, faster now, determination in his voice as he rumbles against her ear. "Bloody hell, Emma, please tell me you're close." And maybe he's a little desperate, a little needy, too.

Nodding, because she can't seem to find the wherewithal to speak, she twists her upper body backwards, enough so that she can meet his lips in a bruising kiss. "Together," she whispers, her teeth knocking against his sloppily as his thumb presses down over her clit.

Her eyes slam shut as her orgasm bursts outward, racing through her limbs, lightning in her veins, the heavy drag of his cock moving within her one, two, three more times before he stills with a broken grunt against her lips and spills inside her, throbbing as she pants into his mouth.

_Damn. Just... damn. _

Humming, she drops her head back to the pillows, still half twisted, sated and boneless as she catches her breath.

_Wow_, she thinks, her heart pounding in her ears. Killian chuckles and his arm tightens around her waist. "Did I say that out loud? she asks, giggling.

"Aye, love, you did. 'Tis an accurate sentiment though."

She laughs again at that, and when he slips from between her legs, she rolls over to her other side to face him, laughing even harder now because the sleeping bags are a mess and she's going to have to find some way to wash them without her mother noticing because that is so not a conversations she want to have.

"You think maybe you can wash the sleeping bags in the apartment?" she asks, grinning, reaching out to press her fingers over his still thundering heart. "Less explaining than dragging them into the house."

Grinning right back at her, he tugs her into his arms. "Anything for you, my dear."

Snuggling against the heat of him, she bites her lip as the warm wetness of his softened length presses against her thigh. God, how is it even possible to want him again already? The sticky essence of his release trickles down to wet her thighs, her muscles still quivering from the pleasure they just brought each other, and yet she wants him again. "Anything?" she asks, tracing patterns through his chest hair.

"Anything," he confirms, dropping a soft kiss to her lips. "All you need do is ask."

Pulling him back in, she kisses him again until they're both breathless, her skin burning as he cups her ass and slips a knee between her thighs. She presses down against him, rocking her hips, and then the alarm on her phone sounds, loud and blaring, the screen brightly lit above their heads.

Her groan of annoyance turns into a laugh as she reaches up to silence the offending technology. "Killian?" she sing-songs, pressing one last kiss to his chin.

He raises an eyebrow as if to say 'yes, darling?', and she giggles (full on giggles) before managing to complete her request. "Start a small fire while I clean up in here? We really shouldn't miss this meteor shower and the view'll be better outside overlooking the cliff."

"As milady wishes," he agrees, but he doesn't leave the bed as she expects him to, not immediately anyway. Instead he ducks his head beneath the blankets and blindly captures a nipple between his lips, sucking hard, his tongue swirling before he pulls back and makes quick work of vacating the sleeping bag.

Flicking on the lantern, he reaches for the baby wipes again and she watches in the dim light as he wipes himself clean, highlights and shadows clinging to the planes of his body, his muscles flexing as he reaches for his clothing and slowly dresses. It's a reverse strip tease of sorts, but somehow no less arousing, and _shit_, she really does have it bad.

She sighs in disappointment when he's fully clothed once more, and when he bends, the baby wipes in hand, clearly intending to offer aid, she shakes her head and takes the package from his grasp. "Go get that fire started; I'll be out in a minute."

He presses a parting kiss to her lips and it's all she can do not to drag him back down to the blankets.

When he finally leaves the tent, zipping it shut behind him, she shakes her head in incredulity. She'd better get her fill of him before they return home tomorrow, because she's sure as hell not going to be able to have him at a moment's notice with her parents and clients around. The image of him taking her on the desk in the barn office, paper and pens falling to the floor as he ruts against her, comes to mind and she groans, flinging back the blankets so she can clean up and dress.

She's wondering how soon is too soon to move into the apartment with him, when he calls from outside to tell her that the fire is ready. Pushing the thought from her mind for now (because whoa, girl, hold your fucking horses), she calls back to him as she pulls on her leggings. "Be out in a second!"

The night air is cooler than before, a crisp mountain breeze having picked up while they slept, and she pulls a light jacket from the bottom of the bag to shrug on over her sweater.

Digging through the pack, she searches for a flannel for Killian. He'd only worn his thin henley out, and even with the fire and his tendency to bear likeness to a walking furnace, she suspects he'll appreciate the extra layer. Liquid sloshes as she pulls the garment from the bag and she smiles when she finds his flask tucked away at the bottom, the memory of their first night at the tepees crystal clear in her mind. It's funny; so much has changed since then, but somehow, as she steps into her boots and leaves the tent to join him by the fire, she thinks that maybe this isn't so different after all.

The fire is burning low, just enough light to see by, but not so much as to detract from the beauty of the night sky, and she presses the flask into Killian's hand so she can drape the flannel over his shoulders. Linking their arms, she pulls him down to the blanket, and with a soft smile, he tucks her into his side, wrapping his arm around her back and running his fingers through her hair. "I see you've found the rum."

With a nod, she plucks it from his grasp and unscrews the lid, bringing the mouth of the flask to her lips and swallowing. The alcohol burns a warm trail down her throat and into her stomach, loosening her tongue and giving her courage. "I thought about bringing wine," she tells him as she passes the rum to him, "but I didn't want anything as an excuse – I didn't want to be even a little bit drunk. I was kind of afraid you might turn me down like you did back at Ruby's birthday party."

Killian swallows a mouthful and turns slightly to meet her eyes. "That was an entirely different situation, love, and you know it. You were drunk, upset, and not thinking straight. I would have been little more than a temporary distraction. I wanted more than that and I didn't want to take advantage of you then."

He passes the flask back to her and she takes another swig, swallowing around a grin. "And what about now?" she teases, trailing her fingers over his thigh. "If we get a little tipsy finishing off this rum while watching the meteor shower, would you take advantage of me after?"

Groaning and shaking his head with a smile, he tightens his hand in her hair. The answer burns there, bright as day in the dark of his pupils. "You do realize, love, that if we keep at it like this, you'll be liable to complain about how sore you are all the way home tomorrow?"

She grins and pokes at his chest. "You're the one who woke me up for a second round," she reminds him. "Not that I'm complaining. I'll take as much of you as I can get before we're forced to return home and are limited to sneaking around behind my father's back."

Killian smirks then, dark and a little bit dangerous, and oh boy, she's in trouble.

"Perhaps it's just me, darling, but the thought of sneaking around behind your father's back? The lingering threat of being caught? Well, that's something to relish, not dread, don't you think?"

She watches him lift the flask from her fingers, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, and then she's grabbing it back to take another swig. "Are you certain that's a game you want to play, Jones?"

He lifts an eyebrow, his answer obvious: When they return home; game on.

For now though, she snuggles into his side as a meteor streaks across the night sky, their original purpose for being out here remembered. The fiery debris trails dart across the sky at a rate of one or two each minute, and as long as your eyes are open and turned toward the heavens, they're pretty hard to miss.

"Liam loved the night sky," Killian tells her after several quiet minutes of star gazing. "I was a bit of a cynic as a lad and for the longest time while Liam was teaching me to navigate by the stars, I just couldn't look past the practicality of it to see the beauty."

"What changed?" she asks quietly, taking a sip of the rum before handing it to him. He doesn't talk about Liam all that much and she doesn't want to push him, but if he's willing, she'll gladly encourage it. She only knows what she's heard from him and Abi, but she thinks she would have liked the man.

The memory is obviously a good one, because a smile rises to Killian's lips and he shakes his head with a laugh. "I was sixteen, a bit of the brooding sort. Liam and I were out on the boat for a long weekend and on the second night, the wind just dropped off completely. Our sails fell limp and within minutes we were just bobbing there in the stillest surf I'd ever seen. There wasn't much to do and little point in using the stars to navigate when we bloody well weren't moving, so we ended up flat on our backs on the deck, looking up at the night sky."

Killian passes the flask back to her and she tightens the cap, allowing it to rest against her thigh as she waits for him to continue.

"I knew most of the constellations by then of course, but I'd never had any interest in the stories behind them, not until that night. Perhaps it was boredom that prompted me to ask Liam to share them, he was quite the storyteller after all, but all I know is that we looked up at the sky for hours, talking and laughing, and when the sun rose and the stars faded from view, I remember wishing it could have lasted forever. It was the first time I was sad to see the stars go, the first time I appreciated them for more than just navigating purposes."

Taking his hand, she hugs it to her chest, linking their fingers together. "That's a beautiful memory, Killian. I- thank you for sharing it with me."

There's an edge of sadness to his smile, but for the most part, it's peaceful. "It's one of my fondest memories of him, and it's been a long time since I recalled it without pain, so really, love, it is I who should be thanking you."

He pulls her close for a kiss then, the night sky momentarily forgotten, because his lips are soft and warm against hers, and just when she thinks she's figured out how he kisses, he throws her a curve ball, finds another way to nudge her world off its axis with his lips, and she has to steady herself with a hand against his chest to stay grounded at the wonder of it all.

Of course that hand against his chest, and the fact that they've been discussing Liam, prompts her to notice that he no longer wears his brother's dog tags. She can't recall when exactly they went missing, but she's pretty sure they haven't been present for either of their dates. Pulling back, she traces a line where the chain used to sit on his neck. "What happened to Liam's tags?"

Reaching up to cover her hand, he brings it to his lips. "I gave them back to Abi when they left. She'll give them to Colin when he's old enough. It didn't feel right keeping them. I have my memories, but the lad is too young to have much recollection of his father; I figured he ought to have something more concrete." Killian lowers their hands back to his thigh and smiles. "Besides, it's time I stop clinging to the past. I have so much else to be thankful for now."

She's not sure exactly how they got here; from hurling innuendos and looks of poorly suppressed desire, to a heartfelt discussion of his brother and the future, but she likes it (even if it is a little overwhelming), and she's happy that he feels he can open up to her, can talk about his brother and remember the man without it hurting so badly.

Tilting her head back, she nods up at the stars. "Tell me one of the stories that Liam told you? Do you have a favourite?"

"I do," he says, letting go of her hand for a moment so he can slip his arms into the flannel. He shifts to sit behind her, slouching slightly with the log at his back. "Lean back, love." She does, resting against his chest. "There," he says, wrapping his arms around her, "we can see the sky better now."

"So which story are you going to tell me?" she asks him, pleasantly warm from the rum and the fire and the heat of him at her back.

"How about the one for which this meteor shower is named? Coincidently it's one of my favourites."

"Perseus," she states proudly, "because that's the constellation that the Perseid meteor shower appears to radiate from." _Yeah... so what? She did her homework before bringing him out here._

She can feel his lips pull into a grin against the top of her head. "And what else do you know of good old Perseus, darling?"

"Something about Medusa and a princess, but I'm hazy on the details. My Greek mythology is admittedly a little rusty." _She hadn't done quite that much research._

"Lucky for you, then, because mine is up to snuff. You remember that Perseus was no ordinary hero, yes? He was a demigod; the son of Zeus and the mortal woman Danae."

She nods, reaching for the rum to take a sip before looking up at the night sky as Killian continues. "Well, one day Perseus was tasked with an impossible mission, one that should have resulted in his death, for no man had ever faced Medusa and lived to tell the tale, and Perseus himself was to retrieve the Gorgon's head. Luckily Perseus had allies in the gods, and he was gifted with a helmet that would make him invisible, a glittering sword of diamond, a pair of winged sandals, and a reflective shield of bronze."

After swallowing a mouthful of rum, Killian resumes talking, his voice growing increasingly dramatic. "Medusa was a horrendous creature with snakes for hair and a gaze so terrifying that anyone who looked upon it was instantly turned to stone. Perseus was a clever bastard though, and with the aid of the god's gifts, he succeeded in parting Medusa's head from her shoulders, placing it in a bag for safe keeping."

Part of her wishes she wasn't actually in Killian's arms right now, because she imagines that if his arms were free, he might include dramatic gestures along with his narrative, and that is something she would certainly like to see. Another time maybe; she's pretty damned happy where she is right now.

"On his way home, Perseus had many adventures, but the greatest of them all was when he happened across a beautiful woman chain to a rock at sea. Her name was Andromeda, and when Perseus asked how she found herself in such an unfortunate predicament, she told him that her mother, Cassiopeia, in a foolish act of vanity, had angered the sea god, Poseidon. As payment for her mother's sins, she was to be sacrificed to the great sea monster, Cetus."

Bits and pieces of the mythology come back to her as Killian speaks, and she remembers sitting in class back in grade eight, laughing with Ruby over how ridiculous some of the stories seemed. "I remember thinking that Cassiopeia was a snooty bitch," Emma says, laughing.

Killian chuckles in agreement and they pass the rum back and forth before continuing. "So as Perseus and Andromeda spoke, Cetus rose up from the sea to claim his prize, but before he could do so, Perseus lifted Medusa's head from the bag and turned its gaze upon the wretched monster. In an instant, Cetus turned to stone, crumbling back into the depths from whence he came. And after that, Perseus freed Andromeda from her chains and they lived happily together for many long years. When they died, it is said that the gods turned them into stars so that they might live on forever in the heavens above!" He finishes with a flourish and Emma feels the almost ridiculous urge to clap.

He points out the Perseus constellation in the night sky, showing her Andromeda, as well as Cassiopeia and Cetus, and then she's drawing his hand back down in hers and tucking it beneath her chin, her blood humming, the buzz of alcohol settling into her bones. Smiling, she says, "You know, I think you're a pretty good storyteller yourself." She pauses for a moment then, considering something. "And I've seen you with Colin and Alexa; kids love you. Have you ever thought about actually putting that fancy psychology degree of yours to work?"

Killian shrugs, she can feel it in the movement of his chest and shoulders against her back. He remains oddly quiet and she turns enough in his arms that she can catch sight of his face, and of the slight frown that graces it. Has she upset him? "It's not that I don't love working with you at the ranch, because I really do, but if you ever decided to explore other options, you would of course still have a home with us," she promises, squeezing his arm, "nothing would change that, okay? I just really think that you could do a lot of good," she finishes with a shrug of her own.

He's smiling now, that affectionate one where she can actually _see_ the love in his eyes. "Perhaps someday, love. For now though, I'm quite content where I am." He hugs her tight, and with that, she settles back against his chest. "So am I," she admits, closing her eyes as she settles into the truth of that statement.

"Nowhere else you'd rather be?" Killian prompts, his fingers edging along the hem of her sweater, teasing a path over her stomach. His touch is more ticklish than arousing and she tries to answer, but her giggle turns into a squeal of laughter when his fingers wiggle higher instead of lower. "Pardon, love? I couldn't quite make that out." His fingers keep moving.

"I- Killian!" she squeaks, sucking in oxygen. "I can't- breeeaaathe-" she laughs harder, curling in on herself as his fingers continue to patter relentlessly over her ribcage, "god- stoooop-" another shriek and she twists and contorts her body, almost succeeding in squirming out of his grasp, but instead she ends up half lying on her stomach with her cheek pressed to the blanket and her hips over his thigh as she shakes with breathless laughter, and god, the asshole, he's still tickling her. "Nooo," she tries again, "there's- nowhere- else-" she's probably hyperventilating at this point, but somehow she manages to get the rest of the words out in a single rushed breath, "I'dratherbe."

"Good," he whispers with one final poke, and then he stops tickling her. "Was that so hard?" he jokes, and she'd punch him if she were capable of moving, but as it is, she's just lying here in a heap, breathing hard and trying to catch her breath.

When there's a reasonable amount of oxygen making its way to her brain, she realizes that she's more or less sprawled across his lap with her ass in the air and maybe she is a little bit drunk (or possibly just euphoric) because her elbows supporting her weight against the blanket covered stone don't hurt nearly as much as they probably should.

His hands skim soothingly over her back and her hair, and she twists to look up at him, wiggling her hips against his thigh. "Remember that talk we had earlier about you taking advantage of me?" she asks with a grin.

Killian's answer comes in the form of his hand groping her ass.

It's quick and a little bit clumsy, fumbling hands and just enough clothing removed for the necessary parts to come together, and she's fairly certain her knees are going to be bruised tomorrow (his too), but she doesn't care because it's hot and it's messy and it's perfect, and she had no idea you could laugh so hard while having sex, just to turn around and have the earth shatter beneath your palms only moments later.

By the time they've cleaned up and straightened their clothing, they're caught in a hilarious circle of yawns and she doesn't have the slightest clue which of them started it. She wants to sleep, to crawl into the tent and curl up in his arms, but the sky is lighter now, the stars fading as dawn approaches, and it really would be a shame to miss the sunrise.

Putting out the fire, they move to the other edge of the clearing, facing east where the sky is brightest, the horizon tinged with increasing orange as the night flees. Killian stands behind her on the sloped ground, and it puts him a little higher, enough so that he can rest his chin against the top of her head, his arms coming up to hug her shoulders. Gripping his forearm over soft flannel, she leans back against his chest, into the strength and security of his embrace, fighting yet another yawn.

When the sun floods over the horizon, golden and bright, its rays stretching across the forest and rivers and lakes below, she closes her eyes to the warm caress of it on her skin.

"Killian?" she hums, her eyes still shut tight as she focuses on memorizing the feel of him, of this moment.

"Aye, love?" His arms hold her a little tighter and she can feel his lips against her hair.

"There really is nowhere else I'd rather be."


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Mostly fluff and smut in this one, my darlings. I figured we could all use it in light of everything that's happening on the show right now. We'll get back into moving the plot forward in the next chapter. I'm estimating here, so don't hold me to it, but I figure we've only got about 3, maybe 4 chapters left before the epilogue! A big thank you to Sarah (lifeinahole27) for helping me read through and check for errors this chapter (also for just generally being the best sounding-board and friend a girl could ask for)!

* * *

When they'd finally gone to sleep, well past sunrise, it had been after working together to secure the tarp over the tent. It hadn't rendered the interior completely dark, but at least the sun hadn't been shining directly in their eyes. Too tired to strip completely after being up half the night, the last vestiges of rum and its effects fading from her system, she'd simply ditched her jacket and boots before crawling gracelessly into the sleeping bags, the hazy memory of Killian at her back, following her into sleep.

She wakes sometime later. Much later, if the position of the sun directly overhead, bright through the moss green polyester of the tarp, is any indication. Her stomach growls and Killian nestles closer, his breath warm against her neck as his arm tightens over her waist. She's on her back and this time he's the one using her as a pillow.

Reaching overhead for her phone with the arm that isn't pinned by Killian's weight, see sees that it's almost noon and her stomach growls again in a not so quiet reminder that she's neglected to fill it with anything but rum in the past fourteen or so hours.

Desire for food notwithstanding, she's actually not all that eager to rise and meet the day. Killian is warm and solid, all relaxed muscle and soft breathing, and the way he curls around her, holds her in his sleep, protective and maybe a little bit possessive; she thinks she could certainly get used to it. Maybe she already has.

The numbers on her phone shift, 11:59 disappearing as 12:00 takes its place, and her stomach rumbles accusingly, louder this time. As much as she'd love to lie here for a while longer, they really do need to rise. By the time they eat and pack up, it's probably going to be nearing 1 o'clock... They're definitely going to be late for dinner.

Stretching languidly in the sunny warmth of the tent, she jostles Killian gently as she kicks off the blankets. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead," she murmurs, turning on her side to disrupt him further.

With a clearly displeased groan, he clutches her tighter, drawing her against his chest like a ragdoll. "Must we?"

She can hear the pout in the sleepy grate of his voice and she changes tactics.

Ducking her head beneath his chin, she presses her lips to his skin, dipping her tongue into the hollow where his collar bones meet. She feels him swallow hard and slowly pushes him to his back. They really don't have time for this right now, not if they have any hope of making it home at a somewhat respectable hour for dinner, but that doesn't stop her from climbing astride his hips and grinning down at him.

He's already half hard between her thighs, blinking up at her with wide blue eyes. "I'm not sure about the shine," he comments with a wicked tilt of his hips as his hands settle over her bare thighs, "but I do believe we've accomplished the rise."

And she's just about to say to hell with getting home on time, because she'd much rather take advantage of the situation she's found herself in, but then her damned stomach just has to go and growl again, and when Killian's rumbles in a echoing call for sustenance, she breaks out in laughter, her hands on his chest as his answering mirth shakes beneath her palms.

"Right then, love," he says after pulling her down for a good morning kiss. "Let's get on with the day."

Eating breakfast and returning the campsite to its original state doesn't take long, and with everything packed up, they start the long hike back to the park gates. It's downhill most of the way, the going made easier by gravity, but Killian was right, she definitely is a little bit sore. She doesn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her complain though, and as they walk, she loosens up, breathing in fresh mountain air and the sharp scent of pine.

Late afternoon is upon them when they reach the bug and she digs the keys out of her bag, tossing them to Killian. "You mind driving? I should call mom once we're on the road and let her know we're going to be late for dinner."

Killian catches the keys with an easy grin and after stowing away their bags, they're on their way.

When they arrive home, her parents have already eaten and are seated on the porch, enjoying the gentle evening breeze as they rock together on the padded swing, the very picture of domesticity.

Leaving the bags in the car for now, she takes Killian's hand and pulls him toward the house. Her mom said something about Granny's lasagna and she has a suspicion that it's still keeping warm in the oven.

"Lasagna's waiting for you in the oven," her mother greets with a smile, taking in their clasped hands. "Why don't you bring it out here and join us? It's too nice out to sit inside."

Her father looks less than thrilled about that, somehow managing to glare at them while simultaneously avoiding glancing at their joined hands. Killian releases his hold on her fingers, much to her disappointment, but the kiss he presses to her cheek quickly makes up for it. "Have a seat, love, I'll be back out with supper in a moment."

Killian slips past the screen door as Emma takes a seat across from her parents in one of the sturdy wooden lawn chairs. Her mother and father rock together on the porch swing and there's an awkward moment of silence in which Emma feels like she's been thrown back to that time in fourth grade when she was seated in the principal's office for punching some bully named Lily in the face.

She's contemplating the least awkward way to break the silence when her mother finally speaks and makes it even worse. "So how was the date? We want to hear everything!"

Her father bristles noticeably with a frown. "Just for the record, some of us don't want to hear everything."

"How was the hike? Did you visit the grotto? What about the campsite? Was the fire pit we built still there after all these years? What about the meteor shower? I bet that was romantic! Did you stay up half the night kissing under the stars?" her mother asks excitedly in rapid-fire succession.

Her father crosses his arms at the mention of kissing and buts in. "_That_, for instance, is one of the things I don't want to know about."

Emma just shakes her head and glances at the door, not knowing if Killian appearing right now would make things better or worse. She sighs. "I think I'm just gonna go inside... see if Killian needs any help..." She makes her escape quickly, pausing in the mudroom to toe off her hiking boots.

"She seems happy," her mother notes, and with the glass pane raised on the screen door, Emma is able to hear her father's reluctant response. "She does." Grudging silence. "I'll still shoot him if he hurts her though."

Rolling her eyes, Emma pulls off other boot. "I can hear you guys!" she shouts at her parents before joining Killian in the kitchen.

The lasagna is plated, still steaming, but he's just leaning against the counter with an amused look on his face. She quickly realizes that the kitchen window is also open and that he probably heard the entire exchange through it.

Stepping up to him, she circles her arms around his waist, pressing a relatively chaste kiss to his lips. "Come on," she whispers so that her parents won't overhear. "Let's get back out there before my dad scowls any harder. Might be unfortunate if his face got stuck like that."

With a shared laugh and another kiss, they carry the food back out to the porch only to discover that David has wandered off to cut the grass.

Emma shares a concerned look with her mother, and Killian guiltily mentions that he had fully intended to cut the grass tomorrow, but Mary Margaret just waves him off. "Don't worry about him. Let him cut the grass if he wants to. He's still just trying to figure out how exactly he more or less unknowingly managed to handpick his daughter's future boyfriend all those months ago."

Emma snorts at that, shoving lasagna into her mouth because she's not sure what to say, and Killian just laughs self-deprecatingly. "Bet he's regretting the decision to pull over and offer me a tow into town."

Mary Margaret places a reassuring hand over Killian's arm, squeezing lightly before sitting back in the swing. "I know that's not true. In fact I'm fairly certain he already considers you a son. We tried again after Emma was born, but never did manage to have more children, and if anything, he's probably trying to figure out what you dating Emma means for his relationship with you."

Killian looks a little bit speechless, and Emma has to admit that she is too, but Mary Margaret just ploughs on as if she hasn't basically just referred to Killian as a son, and though it's nothing but a vague inference, Emma can still practically hear the word _marriage_ loud and clear and just... She shoves another forkful of lasagna into her mouth and does her best to pretend she didn't hear any of it, because, nope, so not going _there_ anytime soon.

Nodding toward Killian's still untouched plate, Mary Margaret starts rocking slowly on the swing. "Now eat your food before it gets cold and tell me about this date of yours."

With Killian's help, Emma shares the highlights of their date (obviously limiting it to a PG recollection), running back to the car to fetch the camera when Killian brings up the wild horses. The pictures she took are better than she thought, and when Killian suggests getting one printed to hang in the barn office, her mother wholeheartedly agrees.

They talk into the evening; about the ranch, business and pleasure, the upcoming school year, and how Mary Margaret has already arranged a substitute teacher for the second last week of September because come hell or high water, she and David are going on this Caribbean vacation. Most of the details are already ironed out, and with the fantastic deal they managed to get (apparently not that many people travel south at the start of the school year), there's no way they're postponing it. Killian reassures Mary Margaret that the ranch will be in good hands while they're gone, and Emma's already looking forward to a week of privacy.

Her mind wanders as her mother and Killian continue to talk, and she looks out over the yard and the lush fields beyond. The sun is flirting with the horizon as her father completes the last loop by the barn on the riding mower, the scent of fresh cut grass heavy in the air, mingling with distant wood smoke as it drifts over from the cabins. Several citronella candles flicker warmly on the porch, keeping the mosquitoes at bay, and when she kicks off her boots and props her feet up on the edge of Killian's chair, he pulls them into his lap, working his thumb into the arches without so much as a break in conversation.

David rejoins them as twilight settles over the farm, and when he reclaims his seat on the swing; Emma removes her feet from Killian's lap, not wanting to make this awkward for either of them.

Killian steers the conversation toward baseball, knowing her father won't be able to resist, and Emma's glad to see the rapport between the two most important men in her life return to something approaching normal.

Standing and stretching, Emma gathers the dishes and exchanges a look with her mother, who immediately rises to follow her inside, leaving David and Killian on the porch.

Once inside, with the dishes in the sink and the water running, Mary Margaret closes the window. "Now that your father's not here to gripe and moan like a petulant child, how was _it_?"

If Emma's not mistaken, there's a particular emphasis on the 'it' in that question, and god, she really doesn't want to discuss _that_ with her mother. Just no. That's too awkward and it's not that she's a prude, far from it, but there are certain things she just doesn't feel the need to share. With an annoyed quirk of her eyebrow, she rolls her eyes. "Seriously, mom?"

Mary Margaret laughs. "Oh relax, I'm not Ruby, I'm don't want any details. I just want to know that you're happy."

With a reluctant smile, Emma nods. "I am."

Her mother nods succinctly and passes her the dishtowel. "Let's get these cleaned up and then I'll try to keep your father distracted so you and Killian can do night check in peace."

Accepting the towel with a shake of her head, Emma tries to figure out just how exactly she ended up with such an awesome mother.

Emma drags her feet during night check and it doesn't take Killian long to figure out why. "I understand your reluctance, love. I too wish I could spend the night with you in my arms, and though I wish it were otherwise, dragging our feet is only going to bring your father out here under the assumption that we're doing something scandalous."

With a pout, Emma twists the hose off and crosses the aisle to wrap her arms around his waist. He still smells a little bit like campfire, overpowered by lingering sweat from their hike and citronella candles, and she rubs her nose against his chest, inhaling deeply and cursing herself for being so damned clingy. "I know," she sighs. "At least Friday we have a scheduled trip up to the tepees." She shrugs. "It's only two nights."

Killian nods against the top of her head. "Besides, you'll see me bright and early tomorrow morning," he pulls back enough to look at her with a teasing grin, "and at least this way we might actually spend the night sleeping."

She pokes him in the side and heads back to the hose before she can do something she probably shouldn't (like haul him into the office and make a mess of the desk). The stupidly tempting Irishman.

He looks mildly disappointed, momentarily motionless until he seems to gather his wits enough to pick up the broom he left leaning against the wall and resume sweeping.

With the barn dark and the horses tucked in for the night, she follows him across the driveway to where the bug is parked in front of the garage. It's partially because she doesn't want to say goodnight just yet, but also because she actually does need to gather, at the very least, her deodorant and birth control from the bag. If she happens to also snag the Henley that he wore last night, well then that's just a bonus.

With a lingering kiss and a goodnight wish, she leaves him standing there in the dark before her resolve cracks and she winds up upsetting her father by spending the night in Killian's bed. It's a little ridiculous; she should be able to sleep where she wishes, but there's still some sort of delicate balance here, one that's already shifting, and she'd hate to throw it off kilter completely.

She showers before bed, begrudgingly rinsing what remains of Killian's scent from her skin, content, at least, in the knowledge that she'll have his shirt to curl up in. This brings her to another thought, one which makes her laugh; it's that she really ought to return some of his pilfered clothing. She's starting to compile quite the collection.

Shuffling into bed, wrapped in Killian's shirt, she reaches for her phone, feeling terrible that she hasn't yet replied to her friends. Shooting a text to each of them, she turns off the lamp on her bedside table and wonders just how pathetic it would be if she grabbed a spare pillow or two from the closet, simply to help fill up her suddenly too large bed.

She's seriously considering it when her phone vibrates in her hand.

Expecting a reply from either of her friends, she's surprised to see that the message is from Killian. Thumbing it open, a smile splits across her face. **– Is your bed also feeling much too large, love? I admit, I may have stolen that sweater you wore last night from the pack. It's a poor substitute for the real thing, but still, it's quite nice to have your scent in my bed. –**

Tugging the collar of his shirt up to her nose, she breathes deeply before messaging him back. **– I'm wearing yours. Please tell me you're not wearing mine? – **

His text appears with a low buzz seconds later. **– Fear not, darling, I am simply snuggled up with it next to my pillow. – **A moment and then another vibration. **– I'm curious, love. What else are you wearing with that shirt of mine? – **

Another grin rises to her lips and this probably isn't the time of night to be doing this, but she just can't resist. **– Not a damn thing. –** It's the truth after all. The shirt is quite long on her, falling below the curve of her ass when she stands, and she's not sure why exactly, but she hadn't bothered with underwear.

– **Bloody hell, that's hardly fair. – **

– **Hey, buddy; you're the one who asked. – **

– **But really, love? Not ever underwear? Do you know what that does to me? – **

– **I can imagine. –** Hell yes she can. And she should probably put a stop to this before they get carried away because she's not about to sext, let alone masturbate, with her parents just down the hall getting ready for bed.

– **Can you though, Emma? Can you imagine how hard I am? Can you imagine my hand, bloody poor substitute that it is, wrapped around my cock while I picture you with my shirt bunched up above your beautiful breasts? – **

_Too late._ She groans into her pillow when she reads it. _Sonofabitch. _

– **God, you have to stop. You might be able to take care of your problem over there where you've got privacy, but me? Not so much. – **

– **Apologies, darling. Next time we rile each other up, let's be certain that things can actually run their course. I'll let you get some sleep. Goodnight, my love. Sweetest dreams. 3 – **

– **Goodnight. –** She sends back, and then after a moment's contemplation, she adds, **– 3 –** and hits send before she can chicken out. It's a step in the right direction... she hopes, panicking for a brief moment while she waits for him to send something, anything back, because it's not an 'I love you', but it's still a heart and it's a pretty big freaking deal for her and she really hopes he doesn't go to sleep without acknowledging it. Or maybe she would prefer if he didn't see it at all, wishing she could take it back, but when **– xoxo –** appears on the screen, she breathes out a sigh of relief, feeling more than a little bit silly as she returns the sentiment.

After that, she ends up texting back and forth with Ruby for a while, making tentative plans to get together on the weekend, and when Emma finally does fall asleep, she remains that way straight through 'til morning.

* * *

Thursday puts them back into the regular swing of things; completing chores in the morning and leading trail rides in the afternoon.

In the evening they head into town to visit with Ashley and Avast. At 10 weeks old, most of the puppies have already been re-homed, but Ashley has agreed to keep Avast for Killian until the end of August when tourist season dies down.

They stay well past Alexa's bedtime, talking quietly in the living room. Sean is working a late shift at the cannery, so it's just the three of them, and Ashley's half way through an amusing retelling of Alexa's first swimming lesson when Emma realizes that Killian has fallen asleep on the floor with Avast.

He's stretched out on the carpet on his stomach, his head pillowed on his right arm, with this left arm wrapped around the pup's sleeping form, and for a split second, Emma feels jealously surge in her chest. It's silly though, to be jealous of a dog, and she shakes the feeling away by reassuring herself that tomorrow she'll be able to spend the entire night in Killian's arms.

She chats with Ashley a while longer, but when the petite blonde starts to yawn, Emma figures they've overstayed their welcome. Sliding from the couch, she moves over to where Killian is still sprawled on the floor. Avast thumps her little tail, stretching sleepily, and Emma runs a hand over the strong lines of Killian's back. "Time to wake up," she urges softly, running her fingers through his dishevelled hair. "We should get out of here so Ash can get to bed."

Killian opens his eyes, turning his head to blink up at her with a crooked smile, and her heart beats a happy little rhythm in her chest. Goddamnit, she's so in love.

The trip home is quiet. She drives the jeep and Killian dozes off again in the passenger seat, seemingly exhausted. She wonders if he didn't sleep well last night. She wonders if nightmares kept him up, or if just maybe he missed her presence in bed as much as she missed his. Whatever the cause, she hopes he'll sleep better tonight.

The lights in the house are still on when she pulls in next to the garage, and for several long moments after she kills the engine, some selfish part of her considers just saying to hell with what her father thinks and heading upstairs with Killian. But then her conscience kicks in, and as much as she wants to wrap her arms around him and spend the night in his bed, she also doesn't want to stomp all over the progress he made last night in returning his relationship with her father to what it used to be.

She can wait one more night.

With a heavy sigh, she pulls the keys from the ignition, unbuckles her seatbelt, and reaches over to gently shake Killian awake. "We're home."

He startles upright, seemingly surprised that he'd fallen asleep again, and she laughs a little bit at the bewildered look on his face as they both slide out of the vehicle. "Apologies, love. I've not been very good company this evening; seems I've turned into some sort of bloody narcoleptic."

Taking his hand, she steers him toward the apartment stairs before pulling him into a hug. "Trouble sleeping last night?"

His arms loop around her waist, holding her tight, and she feels him nod, his scruff catching in her hair. "Not having you in my arms, combined with a nasty nightmare, made for a rather restless night." His voice is quiet and she tucks her hands under the back of his shirt, swaying closer as she shuts her eyes.

"I can stay with you tonight... if you want?" she says slowly, and it's definitely not an entirely altruistic offer. "Dad won't like it, but I really don't care."

Chucking against her hair, Killian presses a kiss to her temple. "I appreciate the offer, darling, I really do, but I'd rather not toss my relationship with your father to the wolves with such blatant disregard for feelings. I'm in this for the long haul and I would prefer that he not abhor me."

With a shake of her head, she captures his lips in a sleepy kiss. "You know, for someone who can't seem to keep his eyes open, your vocabulary is remarkably intact."

He kisses her again in response, unable to fight a yawn when he releases her. She ruffles his hair playfully and turns him toward the stairs with a pat on the ass. "Go sleep, handsome. I'll see you in the morning."

A teasing grin and a mumbled "goodnight, beautiful," and then he's disappearing up the darkened stairwell and into the apartment.

When she enters the house, her mother is already in bed, but her father sits up in the low light of the living room, reading (or at least pretending to read) a book. In reality he's probably keeping tabs on her, making sure she actually makes it back to her own bed, and she fights an eye roll as she wishes him a goodnight and rubs Duke's belly before heading down the hall to her bedroom.

* * *

Friday morning she wakes early, feeling a little ridiculously like a kid on Christmas. She shouldn't be this excited by the prospect of another night in Killian's arms, especially when it's only been two since their last, but that doesn't change the fact that she's almost laughably giddy.

Sex probably isn't even on the agenda because they'll be travelling to the tepees with a family of four and she's fairly certain she has enough sense and self control to behave herself when there are impressionable children around, plus he canvas walls of the tepees don't exactly offer much in the way of noise reduction, but either way, she'll just be happy to snuggle up next to Killian for the night.

The ride to the tepees is peaceful; the parents and their two pre-teen sons, while not experienced horseback riders by any means, are no stranger to wilderness adventure. The mother is an avid bird watcher, and the boys and their father eagerly set up for some fly-fishing as soon as the group reaches the clearing.

With the horses secured in the pen and a fire started, Emma drags Killian over to the old tie post on the far side of the clearing, happy to take advantage of the relative self-sufficiency of their guests.

The early evening sun is already beginning its descent toward the horizon, and as Emma takes a seat on the old wooden beam, leaning back against Killian's chest, she closes her eyes for a moment, taking in the weight of his arms around her middle and the strong cradle of his shoulders at her back. The enduring warmth of the day is slowly fading, a cool breeze sweeping in to take its place, and she knows it won't be long until summer slips away for the year.

A splash and a cheer from the river draw her attention in that direction, and she opens her eyes to see the younger of the two boys proudly holding up a large trout. She smiles; looks like they've got something else to add to the menu for supper.

Killian's grip tightens over her stomach as he pulls her a little closer and presses a kiss to her ear, his stubble scratching over the sensitive flesh. She shivers and he exhales hotly as he toys with the hem of her shirt, his fingers stroking beneath to tease the skin of her stomach.

"Behave," she scolds, twisting her fingers with his, silently cursing his ability to wind her up with such a simple touch.

His chuckle is a dark promise against her ear and it takes an extraordinary amount of self-control not to turn around and kiss the knowing smirk from his lips.

Killian is quiet for several more minutes, seemingly behaving himself as they watch the father prep the fish and the boys pack up the gear, but she can feel the tension radiating from him, and when she curiously presses her hips back just slightly, leans into him a little more fully, she can feel the clothed ridge of his erection against her spine.

Seems she's not the only one easily riled up. Shaking her head, she extracts herself from his embrace and stands. "I'm going to go get dinner started." She looks pointedly down at his crotch and bites her lip. "Come join us when you've got _that_ under control."

He grumbles quietly and tugs her in for a quick kiss, whispering against her lips. "I'm trying love, but it's hard..." he pauses with a crooked grin, arching an eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes at the terrible pun, "when I want you so bloody much."

With a sigh and seriously wavering resolve, she leans her forehead against his. "Later. _Maybe_," she stresses. "If you can be quiet." They really shouldn't, but god, she wants him too. Turning away before she can work either of them up any further, she heads back toward the fire.

After checking on the horses, Killian joins them as she finishes cooking dinner. The more obvious evidence of his arousal has subsided, but she can still see how much he wants her in the flash of his eyes and the jittery way he frequently draws his thumb over his fingertips.

He makes a point of sitting next to her, but remains far enough away they don't touch, and as frustrating as it is, it's probably the wisest choice.

Dinner is an excellent distraction. So are campfire games and s'mores, and by the time darkness falls and everyone has said goodnight, the family heading into the largest tepee to sleep, Emma thinks that maybe the tension has died down enough that they will also be able to do just that.

But then she gets a look at Killian's face as they head into the dim light of their lantern lit tepee, and _fuck_, she doesn't think she's ever dropped her pants so quickly.

Stripping out of the rest of her clothes, she crawls naked into the sleeping bag and gives Killian a salacious look before flipping the switch on the lantern in plunging the tepee into near darkness.

Killian joins her a moment later, sliding in beside her, hot and hard and equally bare, and she has to silence her groan against his shoulder because he wastes no time in moulding their naked bodies together as he easily palms her breast and rolls her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Kissing him, she licks into his mouth; hot and wet and impatient, grinding down against his thigh when he pushes it between her legs. She's already slick with desire; has been for most of the evening, and when he reaches down to touch her, he's the one to muffle a curse against her lips. "Fuck, Emma. I need to be inside you."

"We have to be quiet," she reminds him as she wraps her fingers around the straining girth of his cock and strokes firmly. "How do you want me?" she whispers against his mouth, and his fingers stutter over her clit, sloppy in his desperation.

"Knees." He kisses her hard. "On your knees, darling."

She folds back the material of the sleeping bag and positions herself in a heartbeat, looking over her shoulder as he rises up behind her. His face is dark, his expression hard to make out in the low light, but instead of entering her immediately as she expects him to, he bends and lowers his mouth to the back of her thighs, trailing kisses over her skin until his tongue finally presses into her, curling deliciously, and she has to push her face into the thin pillow to suppress a startled gasp of pleasure.

It's nice, it really is, but apparently she's got even less patience than he does because she just wants him inside her this instant. "Killian," she hisses. He laughs, humming against her clit and she presses back into the sensation. "I thought you said you needed to be inside me?"

Groaning quietly, he lifts his lips from her slick flesh, pressing them instead to the base of her spine. "I do, love. It's all I've thought about for the last several hours..." he pauses then, almost hesitant, and she looks back over her shoulder at him again, "but I'm afraid I'm not likely to last very long."

With an exasperated shake of her head, she reaches backwards, grabbing for his hand. When he meets her half way, she tugs it forward to rest on her hip, still holding his gaze. "I don't need long," she reassures him. "I need hard."

His hand smooths over the swell of her ass and he presses another wet kiss to her spine before straightening, shifting behind her until his cock nudges insistently at her entrance. "I thought we were supposed to be quiet?" he asks as he slowly drags the head up and down through her wetness, teasing circles over her clit with his wandering hand.

Breathing out hard, she drops to her elbows on the bedroll, spreads her legs a little wider, and throws him a pointed look over her shoulder. "So shut up and fuck me _quietly_."

His first thrust steals the breath from her lungs as he lines himself up and drives home while pulling her back roughly by the hips. He gives her a moment to adjust, remaining still within her as he folds himself over her back and kisses every inch of skin he can reach, and then he's moving again, drawing out to flood back in, over and over again, his fingers maddening over her clit.

Her orgasm hits her with little warning and she very nearly puts her teeth through her lip with the effort it takes to keep quiet, her legs shaking as Killian grips her hips hard and ruts into her a few more times before stilling inside her and coming with a barely audible whimper.

Grabbing his T-shirt, he spreads it out beneath her before he pulls out and flops onto his back next to her. Easing down onto her stomach, she feels his release drip from between her legs and onto the shirt, glad that he was thinking ahead. If it had been up to her, they'd be making plans to wash the sleeping bags for a second time this week.

Reaching out, she twists her fingers in his chest hair, the thunder of his heart beneath her palm. He exhales contently, covering her hand with his own, but makes no other move or attempt to clean up. After a few quiet minutes curled against his side, wondering if maybe he's fallen asleep, she cleans herself up as best she can with the shirt before reaching into the bag for the baby wipes she's glad she decided to pack.

She slides back into the underwear and a T-shirt, and then grabs a fresh wipe, turning back toward Killian. He's still awake, but his eyes are hooded, barely open, watching her sleepily as she kneels over him and gently wipes him clean.

With a kiss, she tosses him his boxers. "Put those on." She'd rather they're not completely naked if for some reason they have to get up quickly in the middle of the night.

He grumbles childishly, but does as requested, reaching for her in the dark with a long yawn. She settles against his side, her head pillowed on his chest, and she hardly has time to enjoy the feel of falling asleep in his arms before she actually does fall asleep in his arms.

* * *

She wakes before him in the morning, to birdsong and the soft light of dawn filtering through the thick canvas walls of the tepee. Killian is wrapped around her from behind, a position he seems to greatly prefer, his hand on her hip, fingers warm against the bare skin where her shirt has ridden up. She can feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest at her back, and she turns slowly in his arms to face him.

He stirs briefly, dark eyelashes fluttering against the apples of his cheeks as he mumbles incoherently and hugs her closer, adjusting quickly to her change in position. His breathing levels out again and a soft smile carves at his lips.

She watches him sleep, surprised by how content she is to simply lie here and observe him. It was never like this with Neal; she could never just remain quietly in bed with him after waking. She was always plagued by some restless urge to get up and pull away. With Killian she just wants to curl closer and delay the day for a while longer. It's new and strange, but not unwelcome.

At some point she dozes off again, waking this time to brighter sunlight and the sounds of the horses stirring. She opens her eyes to find Killian awake and smiling at her, soft blue eyes filled with affection as his fingers curl over her hip to scratch deliciously up her back. His nails scrape over her right shoulder blade beneath the fabric of her shirt and she moans appreciatively. "Don't stop."

He chuckles and draws his nails over to her other shoulder. "You're going to be covered in scratches, love," he warns.

She ducks her head under his chin and wiggles closer to wrap an arm around his back. "Don't care. So good," she mumbles against his neck as she serpentines her nails lightly over his back.

His answering rumble of gratification has her laughing and lifting her head. "Good morning." She catches his lips in a lazy kiss and stretches against him.

"Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?" he asks with another kiss, his palm soothing gently over her back now.

"I did." She kisses his chin and rakes her nails through his chest hair. "Seems you did too. You were smiling in your sleep earlier."

"I was?"

She nods. "Good dream?"

He pretends to contemplate her question for a moment. "Aye, I think so. There was this blonde angel in my bed. She had the most beautiful green eyes."

Emma taps his chest and gives him a playful grin. "And what else do you remember about this mysterious woman?"

"She had these mountainous walls she liked to hide behind, but her smile, gods, it was the most wonderful thing I'd ever seen." He traces her lower lip with his thumb, his eyes sparkling.

"Did she have a name?"

He hums and haws for a dramatic moment, false concentration shadowing his face. "I can't seem to recall. Anna? No... Ella?"

She flicks him in the ear and he grins through a wince. "I do remember that the lass had a startling propensity for violence. Reminds me of someone I know."

With a roll of her eyes, she tugs him in with a hand at the back of his neck and kisses him hard, filled with such unbelievable love for the ridiculous man.

When she pulls back, he's the one to chase her lips. "Emma," he whispers, "her name was Emma."

And god, one of these days she's actually going to tell him that she loves him, but for now she just meets his lips again and pours everything she can't manage to say into the kiss.

It's not nearly enough, these few quite moments alone together, not when she feels like she could kiss him for an eternity and never tire of his taste, but there's movement outside their tepee now, and it's with some serious resolve that she finally manages to sit up and reach for her jeans.

With a resigned smile, she tugs a sweater over her head, shoves her feet into her boots, and slips out of the tepee, leaving Killian alone to dress.

The morning up at the tepees and the afternoon ride home pass quickly, and as she and Killian are feeding the horses for the evening, she gets a call from Ruby. She'd almost totally forgotten their tentative plans to see a movie, but when Ruby suggests heading to the drive-in for a double feature double date, Emma jumps at the chance to spend time with both her friend and boyfriend.

(Boyfriend – the word sounds different in her head now that she associates it with Killian instead of Neal, and they haven't really discussed their relationship in such black and white terms, but she supposes that's what he is. It makes her smile.)

Belle and Will already have other plans, and after a quick dinner, Emma convinces her father to let them borrow the truck. At first he's hesitant and she's fairly certain it's because he's worried they're going to have sex in his precious pickup, but when she tells him that Ruby and Victor will be parking here and joining them, he blushes and relinquishes the keys without any further poorly concocted excuses.

The night ends up being a lot of fun. They load up the box of the pickup with blankets and pillows, backing it into a spot when they get there before stocking up on twizzlers and cheap popcorn. Outside food and drink technically aren't allowed, but no one ever bothers to search or make a fuss, so they bring in a small cooler with a couple beers each.

The first movie is some stupid romantic comedy that they only half watch, laughing more with each other than at the humour on screen. The second film is a low budget horror, and Emma is sure it might have actually been scary if she hadn't fallen asleep leaning against Killian's chest less than half an hour in.

Sometime later she wakes enough to slide into the truck next to an equally drowsy Ruby. Killian's shoulder is warm against her cheek and she drifts in and out as he drives them all back to the ranch, quietly discussing something she just can't follow with Victor.

Ruby and Victor leave after a quick goodbye and Emma leans heavily against Killian's side as they watch the taillights of the old red camaro disappear around the bend in the driveway. The house is dark when they enter, the clock on the microwave reading 2:15am, and she yawns as she sways sleepily in Killian's arms.

"You should crawl into bed, love," he whispers against the crown of her head. "You're half asleep on your feet."

She hums against his chest, breathing him in. "You should crawl into bed with me."

"You know that I wish I could, but you also know why I cannot."

She grumbles and looks up at him. "I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Aye, darling, I know, and it won't be this way forever. I'm sure eventually your father will remember why he loves me so much and stop frowning every time I'm within three feet of you."

With an unimpressed sigh, she kisses him quickly and unzips his sweater.

He watches her with confusion at first, a warning clearly poised on his lips, but when she pulls the hoodie from his arms and shrugs into it, his frown transforms into a smile. "You know, darling, if you keep helping yourself to my clothing at this rate, pretty soon I'll be forced to walk around in nothing but my knickers." She just grins at him. "And of course that's clearly not a problem for you, is it, love?"

Another sleepy kiss and then he's heading back out into the night with a quiet "Sleep well, Emma."

And she does, wrapped in yet another stolen article of his clothing.

* * *

Sunday dawns in a dark grey haze of torrential downpour and rumbling thunder. It's hot and muggy, the air thick with moisture as the saturated ground squelches beneath her feet. Even with rain boots and a long raincoat, the short walk from the house to the barn leaves her feeling soaked through, her T-shirt and jeans sweaty and damp, clinging to her skin as she steps into the barn and flicks on the lights.

The horses nicker in greeting and she shakes out her raincoat, hanging it on a hook by the door before getting started on grain.

Killian joins her a minute later, shaking rain from his hair. Water droplets bead in his scruff and his dark T-shirt is nearly soaked through, the fabric clinging to the muscled contours of his chest and abdomen. She raises an eyebrow, somehow managing to resist the urge to reach out and _touch_.

"Forgot my slicker in the office," he explains, grabbing for an empty bucket and scoop. "Had no real choice but to run across the driveway in the bloody downpour."

Her eyes drop to his chest again, the bucket dangling forgotten in her grasp. "I'm not complaining."

"Like me wet, do you, love?"

"It's a good look."

His answering grin is filthy, promising wetness that has little to do with the rain, and she returns her attentions to the task at hand before she can do something that likely falls under the heading of questionable conduct in a work environment.

After feeding, they don their raincoats and turn the horses out. It's wet, but warm, and the fields have a number of large shelters should any of the horses decide they'd rather not stand around in the rain.

A quick look at the forecast confirms that the storm isn't likely to let up until well into the night, so while Killian gets started on the stalls, Emma heads into the office to make a few calls, intending to reschedule the day's trail rides. Most guests have no interest in braving the rain, and with the way it's coming down out there, the driveway quickly turning into a muddy mess of murky puddles, neither does she.

She's always liked rain, but as the morning wages on, whenever her wheelbarrow needs to be dumped, she finds herself cursing the downpour as she goes through the lengthy process of slipping into her raincoat, fastening the zipper and buttons, and tugging up the hood. It's a lot of effort just to stay semi-dry, and it's so damned humid that she can't just leave the jacket on while she mucks, forced to repeat the process every couple stalls when she reluctantly admits that if she tries to pack any more manure into the wheelbarrow, she'll likely end up toppling it on the way out the door.

Killian works with more enthusiasm than she does, but by the time they finish up the stalls and sweep out the aisle, he definitely looks ready to call it a day. She's about to ask him if he wants to head inside for an early lunch when the phone rings.

With a groan, she stalks into the office to answer the call as politely as possible. Perched on the edge of the desk, she twirls the phone cord around her finger as she absentmindedly answers questions that she's answered a thousand times before. Killian joins her in the office and drops down into the desk chair, smiling at her as she rolls her eyes and answers yet another inane question – no, they do not offer golf here (it's a ranch, not a country club), there is however a lovely course just half an hour away.

The woman launches into another line of questioning regarding available amenities and Emma shares an exasperated look with Killian as she bites back a sigh, swinging her feet impatiently. Killian's palms settle over her knees, his touch teasing over damp denim, and she gives him a warning look as his fingers inch higher.

He doesn't heed it though, just scoots the desk chair closer until his head is even with her stomach, his torso pressed between her open thighs. And maybe what follows is her own fault as much as his because she really doesn't even think about stopping him. Hooking his fingers in her belt loops, he tugs her to the edge of the desk, his lips on her stomach as he bunches her shirt upwards. When he licks a stripe from her bellybutton up to the material of her bra, she almost drops the phone, glaring down at him. The bastard must consider it some twisted form of encouragement because his tongue dips obscenely into her bellybutton as he pops the button on her jeans.

Stumbling her way through another half-assed answer, she adjusts her grip on the phone and glances at the office door, both relieved and a little bit shocked to see that he's thought to close and lock it. And then he draws her zipper down and drops his lips to press kisses along the exposed elastic of her panties, his breath adding heat to her already flushed skin.

_Sonofabitch_. She'd better wrap up this call before she seriously embarrasses herself.

The problem there is that her brain isn't exactly functioning at 100%. She's more focused on Killian's silent request for her to lift her hips so he can ease her jeans down her legs than she is on whatever the hell Cathy?... yes, Cathy (she thinks) is saying on the other end of the line.

At some point between mechanically reciting trail ride fees and explaining that no, experience is not necessary, Killian manages to free her left leg from her jeans, her boots long gone as he slides from the chair and drops to his knees between her thighs, the bunched up denim still dangling from her right ankle.

And in her defence, she really doesn't expect him to go through with it, not while she's still on the phone, so she's just as surprised as he is (and probably Cathy too) by the startled gasp that escapes her lips when he pushes aside her underwear and sucks firmly on her clit.

Cathy expresses some measure of concern through the phone and Emma finally manages to get her shit together enough to make an excuse about an emergency, scribbling down the woman's contact info with a promise to call back later. _Much_ later... Sometime when Killian isn't busy pushing his face greedily between her thighs.

Slamming the phone down on the receiver, she tugs Killian's head up not so gently by the hair. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" She's not mad, not really, and she feels a little bit bad when he winces and mutters and apology against her stomach.

He stands quickly, an impressive bulge pressing against the zipper of his jeans and a look of apologetic shame of his face as he takes a step back and almost collides with the chair. "Sorry, love, I got a little carried away."

With a shake of her head, she hooks her fingers behind his belt buckle and yanks him back into the v of her legs. "I didn't say stop."

He seems a little bit shocked for a second and then he's kissing her, his hands gripping her hips. She can taste herself on him, mixed with coffee and rain, and she quickly does away with his belt before unfastening his jeans and pushing them down with his boxers to free his erection. She's imagined them like this, fucking on the desk in the office, a slightly ridiculous number of times. There's no way she's passing on making it a reality.

Circling her fingers around his length, she shifts forward to the very edge of the desk, tugging her underwear aside and lining him up with her entrance in a blatant invitation. "Do you have any idea how many times I've imagined this?" she asks against his lips while he pushes into her slowly.

"Not a bloody clue, darling, but tell me, where else have you imagined us?"

He takes her quickly, moving with purpose, with the mutual understanding that even with the door locked, they could be found out at any moment. And as he fills her over and over, the intoxicating drag of his cock hitting her just right, clutter from the desk falling to the ground, she tells him how she wants him in his bed and his shower. She wants him against the barn doors in the dark after night check. She wants him to fuck her bent over the kitchen counter in the morning before breakfast and she wants to straddle him on the living room couch after a long day's work. She wants him however she can get him, slow and fast and hard and soft and she wants the waning summer sun warm on their skin as they make love in the grass on a lazy afternoon.

"Bloody hell, Emma, yes to all of that, love." A jar of pens topples and rolls precariously close to the edge of the desk, its contents clattering to the floor as he picks up speed, teeth pulling down the cup of her bra so he can suck her nipple into his mouth.

With a moan, she holds him to her chest, her hands in his hair and her ankles crossed over his ass as he fills her, and hell, she's never been this vocal during sex, never been one to talk so fucking much. He's the verbose one, not her, but he seems to be enjoying it and she can't seem to stop. She doesn't want to. "Fuck, Killian. I wish we could be outside right now, naked in the warm rain-" her breath hitches as he finds a new angle, and she tightens her fingers in his damp hair, "god, I love when you're wet; the rain, the shower, do you remember that time just after I got home? When you stuck your head under the hose to cool off?" He nods against her chest, teeth grazing over her nipple. "I didn't want to want you, but I did, even then, and one of these days I'm actually going to drop to my knees and taste you like I've been dying to."

"Fuck, Emma," he grunts against her breast, his thumb finding her clit as he pushes her to the edge and follows her over, coming hard and hot between her trembling thighs.

He breathes hard against her neck for a long moment, his cock twitching inside her before he pulls out on shaky legs and stumbles back to collapse in the chair behind him with his jeans and boxers pooled comically like makeshift hobbles around his ankles, a satisfied smirk of his flushed face.

"I can't believe we just did that in here," she says, laughing as she reaches for the Kleenex on the desk in an attempt to clean up a little bit before straightening her underwear and shoving her legs back into her pants.

"I'll certainly never look at that desk the same way again," he quips as she hands him the Kleenex and tugs her shirt and bra back into place.

When she turns to search for her boots, she starts laughing all over again. The file folder that had been on the desk is open on the floor, pens and paper strewn about. She quickly starts cleaning the mess up, and after Killian has his pants on again, he moves to open and unlock the door. He fans it back and forth a few times while failing to bite back a grin. "Does it smell like sex in here to you, love?"

She snorts and tosses him a can of cedar scented air freshener from the desk drawer before finally tugging on her boots and sitting down to make some sense of the papers and restore order to the desk.

They manage it just in time too, because a few minutes later, her father walks into the barn to let them know that Mary Margaret made lunch.

Emma's sitting at the desk, filing the last few papers away, trying to look busy, trying to look like she wasn't just thoroughly fucked barely a foot to her left, and Killian just nonchalantly pieces together a bridle without an apparent care in the world. Her father hovers in the doorway for a moment, giving them a funny look before telling them to come and get it while it's hot.

When he finally turns to leave, Emma notices (chatty) Cathy's crumpled contact info on the floor and reluctantly goes to pick it up. On her way out the door she rises up on her toes to kiss Killian and presses the wrinkled paper into his hand. "You're the one calling her back."

* * *

She gets him back for his stunt in the barn in Tuesday night after dinner when they're watching TV on the couch in the dimly lit living room. They have the house to themselves for the time being; her parents are in town at some sort of committee meeting to deal with finances and the upcoming school year. There's a baseball game on and Killian is definitely a lot more interested in it than she is, but she doesn't mind because it gives her a chance to just sit and observe him.

He really is gorgeous, all dark unruly hair and red-tinged scruff. His blue eyes are focused intently on the game, but his arm is wrapped warmly around her waist as she leans against his side. He doesn't have as many freckles as she does, but there's this one on his neck that she's particularly fond of and she quickly gives into the desire to open her mouth and run her tongue over it. She hears him swallow, feels the beat of his pulse against her lips as his grip on her waist tightens. She smiles, a plan taking shape.

Snuggling in further, she presses a chaste kiss to where his collarbone is visible past the v-neck of his shirt. Closing her eyes, she sighs happily. After a minute the tension leaves his body and she feels the exact moment his attention returns to the game. She stays that way for a while longer before slowly dipping her fingers below the hem of his shirt just as one of his favourite players steps up to bat. His stomach muscles tense beneath her touch, but he stays mostly focused on the TV until she kisses his neck again, nuzzling and nipping against the rough underside of his jaw. Her fingers follow the hairy trail up his stomach to his chest and she teases patterns over his torso, sucking lightly on his pulse point as he struggles in vain to pay some sort of attention to the game.

"Emma?" he questions when she drops to her knees on the floor in front of him and reaches for his belt buckle. It's getting late, her parents could be home any time, but somehow the risk only excites her further as she works to quickly unfasten his jeans.

"Up," she requests, tapping his thigh and he lifts his hips enough that she can pull his jeans and boxers down his legs to pool at his feet.

He's sitting bare-assed on her parent's couch, his cock drawn up tight against his stomach, and shit, this shouldn't be so fucking hot. Pressing her legs together against the growing ache of her own arousal, she bends and kisses his darkly furred thighs, taking the elastic from her wrist to twist her hair up into a loose bun.

Killian's right hand comes to rest softly against her cheek, his left tight in contrast on the couch cushions, and she grins up at him, biting her lip. The TV is long forgotten, his attention entirely focused on her now, anticipation and awe at war on his face. "Emma..." His fingers ghost lightly over the side of her neck to rest on her shoulder. "You don't have to-"

She silences him with an elegantly arched eyebrow and wraps her fingers around the base of his eager cock. "I want to, stupid," she scolds, pushing against his chest with her free hand. "Now sit back and enjoy."

With an almost disbelieving exhale, he leans back against the couch and releases his grip on her shoulder, linking his fingers with hers over his sternum instead.

She strokes him slowly with her hand, silken steel against her palm as she presses teasing kisses to his stomach, nipping at his hipbones, working him up until he's nearly vibrating with want – she knows the feeling – she shifts restlessly, pressing her thighs together in some desperate bid for friction as she finally lowers her head and takes him into her mouth. He's thick, salt and earth against her taste buds, and she moans, curling her tongue around him as she sucks.

"Fuck," he grunts and his grip on her hand tightens almost painfully for a second before he softens it with a breathy apology. "Sorry, love."

She hums her acceptance around his length and his hips jump as something sounding much like nearly unintelligible praise passes his tight lips. She settles into a rhythm with her mouth and hand that have his thighs straining, tension coiling in his body, soft sounds of pleasure in the back of his thorat. She can feel it in his stomach as she takes more of him in, her nose brushing against tense muscle.

When she works her fingers free from his grasp to continue touching his chest, dragging her nails over his nipples and down his abdomen to cup his balls as she sucks harder, he lets out a strangled moan, half plea, half warning as his head falls back and his hips rise in time with her movements. "Gods, Emma-" his hand shakes as he hesitantly touches her hair. "Fuck- I'm going to-"

She bobs her head, nodding in silent acknowledgement, looking up at him as she swirls her tongue over the head of his cock and feels his hips still. He comes with a grunted whimper, his eyes squeezed shut as pleasure contorts his face and he spills into her mouth. Swallowing around him, she sucks him clean, nuzzling his stomach as she slowly helps work his clothes back up his legs and into place around his hips.

With his belt refastened and his shirt tugged back into place, she stands and moves to settle next to him on the couch just as tires crunch over gravel on the driveway and the bright headlights of her father's pickup shine through the window.

She's fairly certain she couldn't have timed that better if she tried, and god, Killian is just staring at her, clearly a little bit shell-shocked, his mouth agape, and she just laughs, pressing a kiss to his cheek and reaching for the remote to turn up the volume on the TV.

When her parents walk in, she and Killian are the picture of innocence. She's seated cross legged on the couch, actually texting Belle, and Killian's sitting a respectable six or so inches to her right, doing a fairly convincing job of pretending to be engrossed in the baseball game. There are subtle hints that speak otherwise and it's probably a good thing that her parents don't turn on the overhead lights, lest they notice the lingering flush in his cheeks or the bright red tinge to the tips of his ears.

She fights to contain a snicker at the slightly horrified look on Killian's face when her father sits down next to him to watch the game. Not thirty seconds later David's favourite player makes a gutsy move and he elbows Killian enthusiastically, "Now that's how you steal third base!"

The unintentional innuendo obviously goes right over her father's head, but when Emma glances at Killian, he's gone an even brighter shade of red and she nearly keels over with silent laughter. Biting her cheek, she stands and hands the remote to Killian. "I'm gonna go get started on night check," she says as casually as possible. It's a little bit early, but if she sits here any longer, she's going to burst with unexplainable giggles.

"I'll be out to help in a few," Killian calls as she darts into the kitchen.

Mary Margaret is on the phone and Emma exchanges a smile with her mother as she grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and heads out into the night. She can still taste Killian's release on her tongue and while not unpleasant, she could definitely use a drink. She downs half the bottle on her way to the barn, the empty ache of desire still very much present between her thighs as she flicks on the lights and greets the horses.

She's tossing a flake of hay into the last stall when Killian finally joins her in the barn. She turns to acknowledge him with a smile and in an instant finds herself pinned between his hips and the wall at her back.

"Bloody fucking hell, Emma, that was..." He kisses her hard, angling her head, his mouth slanting over hers as he roughly cups her mound through the fabric of her jeans, grinding the heel of his hand against her clit.

"Problem?" she asks cheekily, tugging his lower lip between her teeth.

Killian nods and flicks open the button of her jeans, easing the zipper down. "Aye, love, we've quite the problem." He drops his lips to her neck, his fingers dipping into her underwear to find her wet and aching. "Fuck- you enjoyed that as much as I did, didn't you, darling?"

She nods and squirms against his touch. "You said something about a problem?"

He groans and drags his fingers back and forth over her slippery folds, teasing. "Yes, you see, what I really want is to take my time with you, to spend hours between these long legs of yours, but at the moment we unfortunately don't have the luxury of time," he curls two fingers into her heat and her head thuds back against the wall, "so I guess this will have to suffice."

She wants more, she wants him, but he's right, they don't have time. For now the press of his fingers inside her will have to be enough.

He kisses her again, his mouth joining with hers as his hand works her higher, this thumb insistent on her clit until she falls in an embarrassingly short amount of time, weak kneed with her pleasure muffled against his shoulder as he holds her upright with a strong arm around her waist.

"You're a bloody beautiful sight when you come, Emma," he praises, his lips pressed to her temple as he eases his fingers from her heat, wipes them clean on his shirt, and zips up her jeans.

"You're not so bad yourself," she tells him, pulling him down for a long, slow kiss.

He seems to want to tell her that he loves her again; she can practically taste the words on his lips, but he just smiles at her instead and she wonders if it has something to do with the fact that she still isn't ready to say them back. A fact that she's finding rather troubling of late because she _knows_ that she loves him, she trusts him, and it shouldn't be so damned hard to spit out three little words, but things are just so good between them right now and she doesn't want to do anything to change that, and saying those words, as silly as it sounds, she feels like it will somehow jinx things.

Suppressing a sigh, she hugs him tight, lingering in his arms before stepping back. "We should finish up in here." She doesn't want it to sound like a dismissal, but it kind of does and she hates it, so she presses another kiss to his lips before reaching for the broom. "I'll sweep, you do water?"

He agrees with an easy smile and she can't help but feel silly for worrying about the way her words do or do not come out.

It's not that late when they finish up in the barn, so she drags Killian back into the house to watch the remainder of the baseball game, not ready to let him go for the night just yet. Her father hasn't moved from his seat on the couch, but her mother is off the phone now and is curled up in the armchair with a ball of yarn and knitting needles. Duke lounges at her feet, his tail thumping happily with he catches sight of Killian, and Emma can't help but wonder how the old dog will adjust to having a puppy around when Killian brings Avast home in just over a week.

Killian takes the far end of the couch this time, leaving her to sit in the middle between him and her father. She remains upright for a few minutes, but apparently there's nothing quite like a quick finger-fuck and knee-knocking orgasm to leave you in a relatively boneless state of exhaustion, so it's not long before she slowly slumps sideways to lean against Killian while she continues texting with Belle.

She must fall asleep at some point because the next time she opens her eyes, it's morning and she's curled up beneath the blankets in her bed with no memory of how she got there. She's still wearing her bra and shirt, but her jeans are off and neatly folded at the foot of the bed.

Her phone sits on the bedside table and she reaches for it, finding a couple missed messages from Belle and a text from Killian. The messages from Belle aren't urgent, just an expansion on last night's conversation about a new book they've both been reading, followed by Belle's realisation that she must have fallen asleep.

The one from Killian is time-stamped 11:17pm last night and she opens it, curious as to what he possibly could have needed to say.

– **It will likely be morning by the time you read this, but I hope you slept well. You fell asleep on the couch while the game was still on and I didn't have the heart to wake you. Your father was a little perturbed by you using my lap as a pillow, but I assure you, it was entirely innocent and ridiculously adorable (your mother's words). And since you're probably wondering how in the hell you got there, it was also her suggestion that I carry you to bed. I wish I had been able to join you, but it was enough that they allowed me to tuck you in without supervision. I removed your jeans (you really do sleep like the dead, darling) and would have relieved you of your bra as well, but alas I am not skilled in the art of removing such a contraption without first removing your shirt and didn't want to wake you by twisting your arms in what I'm sure would've been a terribly unnatural position. (You'll have to show me that particular trick sometime soon.) And I should probably shut up now because at this point you are likely wide awake and still snuggled up in bed, when really you should be getting up and joining me out in the barn. There will be coffee waiting for you, my love. See you shortly. 3 – **

With a grin, she sits up, flips the blankets back, and swings her legs over the side of the bed, rereading Killian's words as her smile widens and she's filled with the suddenly overwhelming urge to just be next to him.

She dresses quickly, grabs a muffin from the counter on her way out the door, and when she walks (okay, so maybe she jogs) into the barn, Killian is leaning against the wall with an extra travel mug of coffee waiting for her in his outstretched hand.

She doesn't take it right away though. Instead she leans in and kisses him, tasting the coffee on his smile first. "Good morning," she murmurs against his lips wrapping her fingers around the mug. "Thank you for the coffee." She kisses him again. "And thank you for tucking me into bed last night."

"You are most welcome, love."

Sipping at the coffee, the chocolate hazelnut concoction that he seems to favour, she hums appreciatively. "You really are the best."

He laughs and turns her toward the feed room with his hand at her lower back. "Oh I am aware. How about you show me that trick with your bra as a token of your appreciation?"


	19. Chapter 19

This really isn't how she imagined her father finally coming to terms with her relationship with Killian. Not even close. First of all; she'd been certain it would take a hell of a lot longer. It's only been a little over a fortnight since they told her parents that they were dating. She'd been banking on months, not weeks.

And secondly; she had expected to be happier when it finally happened. Don't get her wrong, in and of itself, it's great, but it's hard to carry much enthusiasm for the moment when it arrives on the back of tragedy.

She's not naïve; she's nearly twenty four years old, thank you very much. She knows that nothing lives forever, that animals and people alike have lifespans, and that means that eventually death will come knocking.

They've lost family pets before. She remembers the first time; she was only five years old when their beloved ginger barn cat 'Ford' suffered a heart attack and tumbled from his perch atop the hay bales to land with a quiet thud at her feet. She remembers scooping him up in her arms and running out to find her father in the yard.

At the time she hadn't really understood what death meant beyond the fact that she was never going to see him again. He was gone and she was never again going to look into his green eyes and hear him purr, never again going to protest in disgust when he dropped a headless mouse at her feet.

When she thinks about it now, she understands that death occurs when the heart stops beating, when oxygen no longer reaches the brain, and ultimately, when organs stop functioning, but really, when it comes right down to it, when you get past the science and the biology of it, it's still just the sad reality that you're never going to see someone again.

She was thirteen when their first family dog, a golden retriever named Rapunzel, passed away. They lost another cat, Mickey, when she was sixteen, and over the years, they've also said goodbye to a number of horses.

It never gets any easier, and sometimes she wonders why she bothers putting herself through the repeated cycle of love and loss. But then all it takes is a quiet moment on horseback, the freedom and unity of galloping through a field at sunset, or the way Duke is always, without exception, beyond thrilled to see her, even if she's only been gone for an hour, and it reminds her just how painfully empty her life would be without animals. So if some lingering sorrow and a tearful goodbye are the price she has to pay for countless memories and moments of love and laughter and happiness, maybe it's not such a terrible cycle after all.

It's a Wednesday, the second last night in August, when she and Killian walk laughing toward the barn to do night check.

It's chilly out, autumn eager to make an early sweep down from the mountains as September approaches, and she tugs her toque down over her ears as Killian tickles her through her sweater and calls her a wimp.

She retorts by threatening to warm her fingers against his stomach, attempting to do just that as they stumble into the barn. He flicks the lights on while batting away her hands, and there's a loud chorus of whinnies as twenty three heads appear eagerly over the doors of the twenty four stalls in the barn.

The last doorway on the right remains empty and Emma immediately ceases all attempts at tickling Killian, a frown wiping away her smile, because it's not at all like Cricket, the big chestnut gelding, to stand quietly in his stall while everyone else makes a fuss for food.

"Something wrong, love?" Killian asks as he follows her quickly down the aisle.

When she reaches the stall and peers in, she curses. "Shit, help me get him up."

Cricket lies on his side, attempting to roll, thrashing violently in discomfort, his hooves striking the wall with each flailing movement. Emma opens the stall door and talks soothingly to the horse, wary of his kicking legs as she does her best to remain calm. Panicking won't help any of them.

"Colic?" Killian asks, handing her a lead rope as she steps carefully into the stall, ready to jump out of the way should she need to.

"Looks like it," she agrees, thankful that Cricket quiets slightly as she moves closer to his head and clips the lead to his halter. "I'll pull on him, you see if you can give him a bit of a push there. We need to get him up."

Most people hear the word colic and think about fussy babies with upset tummies, and as far as horses are concerned, in the basest definition of the word, it is essentially the same thing; an upset (pain) in the digestive system.

In reality though, it can be so much worse. Horses are one of the rare animals unable to throw up if something upsets their system, and because of that, a case of colic can be potentially deadly. Sometimes the upset passes without issue, but it's possible for gas or fluid to build up, leading to distension and possible rupture of the stomach, or the intestines can twist, cutting off blood supply, which if left untreated for too long, can result in necrosis.

If left to their own devices, most horses will go down and roll in an attempt to relieve their discomfort, but with the way Cricket is thrashing about, he's likely to injure himself further, which is why Emma is determined to get the gelding back on his feet.

Killian moves to kneel at the gelding's back, pushing against him slightly. At over a thousand pounds, there's no way they can physically lift the horse themselves. The actual act of standing is going to be up to Cricket. They're just there to give him a push and a pull; some extra incentive.

On the count of three, Emma pulls hard on the lead rope, lifting the gelding's head as Killian pushes against his back, trying to shift the horse's weight towards its legs. It takes a couple tries, but eventually Cricket gets to his feet with a shudder, shavings shaking like snow from his coat.

Emma leads him quickly from his stall, down the barn aisle, and out into the night, wanting to have room to work if he decides to go down again. Killian flicks on the flood lights to illuminate the driveway as she walks the restless gelding in circles.

"You all right alone with him for a moment, love?" he asks, pulling his phone from his pocket. "I'm going to run into the house to grab your parents while I call the vet," he says, already dialing the number.

She nods and wills the gelding to please stay standing as she watches Killian jog toward the house.

Cricket huffs uncomfortably, turning to look at his side, worry and pain clear in the brown of his eyes, and she tugs on the lead, urging him onward. "I know, bud. You don't feel too good, do you?"

The screen door creaks loudly, sounding across the expanse of the yard as Killian opens it, and there's a moment where it hangs open, suspended. Time almost seems to stop, and Duke ambles through the gap before the door slams shut. The old dog bounds down the stairs and across the yard, watching her closely, looking very much like he wants to help, and she welcomes his presence as he takes up residence at her left side, walking slow circles with her and the horse.

Her mother rushes out to join them a moment later, quickly followed by her father and Killian.

David heads into the barn to throw hay to the impatient herd still waiting inside, and Mary Margaret steps into place on Cricket's other side as Killian talks on the phone.

"Was he down when you found him?" her mother asks, placing a reassuring hand over Emma's on top of the gelding's neck.

Emma nods. "Thrashing around in his stall, didn't even get up when we walked in and everyone else called for their hay. Killian helped me get him standing and out of the barn before going to get you guys."

"Duke came to help too, I see," her mother comments, and Emma pats the old dog gratefully on the head.

Killian finishes on the phone a minute later and approaches them with a frown. "Dr. Hartford is a couple counties over dealing with a horse that got caught in a barbed wire fence. Says he'll be here as soon as he can, but in the meantime to just keep him on his feet and walking."

Mary Margaret nods in resignation and tilts her head toward Cricket, addressing Killian. "You and Emma keep walking him. I'll go put some coffee on, and David and I will switch with you for a bit when I get back."

Killian swaps places with her mother and his fingers link with hers over Cricket's mane, warm and reassuring as he squeezes and tells her everything will be all right.

She appreciates his optimism, but she's been in this situation with her parents and other horses before; she knows that it doesn't always end well. Things aren't always all right.

Emma trudges onward, one foot in front of the other until her mother returns with a large thermos of coffee and a stack of stainless steel camp mugs.

Her father drags a bale of hay out to rest against an exterior wall and tosses a blanket over it as a makeshift bench before taking the lead from Emma's hands. "Go. Sit. Both of you. We'll switch again in twenty minutes."

She does so reluctantly, taking the coffee from her mother and hunkering down on the bale next to Killian. He's warm and inviting, but she doesn't allow herself anything more than the simple contact of their joined hands.

The next two hours pass in an ouroboros of seemingly endless circles while they wait for the vet to arrive. They take breaks, allowing the gelding to stand every so often, not wanting to tire him out too much, but mostly, they walk. Cricket tries to go down twice, and each time Duke barks, whining loudly in protest. When Cricket tries to drop for a third time, sinking to his knees on the gravel driveway, it takes all four of them to get him back up again.

Despite the cool night air, the gelding is sweating excessively now, still pawing at the ground, obviously in pain, and when the vet does arrive and completes his examination, Emma's not surprised to hear that the diagnosis is grim; Cricket's got intestinal twists in at least two places that the vet can physically palpate. Surgery is an option, but they won't know the extent of the damage until they get in there and it's very likely that the costs (including recovery) will run upwards of $7,000.

Emma hates it, and she knows her parents do too, but she doesn't even have to look at them to know that the surgery won't be happening. It's a sad reality and it makes her feel like a terrible person, but they have a business to run, a livelihood to keep afloat, and as heartless as it sounds, her father had once explained it to her like this: When horses are a part of your business, you acknowledge that yes, they are a living, breathing animal, but you must also consider them as a part of the whole; a well-oiled machine. When a machine that you paid $2,000 for breaks down beyond reasonable repair, you don't spend $7,000 to fix it, not when you can go and replace it for far less.

It's harsh and makes her a little bit sick to her stomach, but there's nothing she can do about it and it's not like she has $7,000 just lying around. The kindest thing they can do for Cricket now is to end his suffering.

The decision is made quickly, and for convenience's sake, they walk Cricket the short distance to the small cemetery on their property before having the vet administer the euthanasia.

It's peaceful and he passes quickly under the bright moon, crickets chirping, an owl hooting, wind chimes sounding in the distance; a quiet elegy as they all stand watch. She holds Killian's hand, her mother's too, and observes it all with some empty sort of defeat.

Her father is glassy-eyed but stoic, composed as usual in such situations, and her mother sniffles quietly at her side, silver tears slipping over her cheeks in the moonlight. Even Killian is affected; a single tear tracking over his cheek to catch in his scruff. But for some reason, Emma's eyes remain dry and she hates it. She wants to cry. She _should_ cry, be outwardly sad, but instead she's just a little bit numb.

Maybe it's because it's late and she's exhausted, or maybe it's because it's just so sudden and she hasn't really processed it yet, but as they place a tarp over the gelding's lifeless body, intending to bury him properly in the morning, all she can think is that she wants to curl up in bed and sleep.

She lingers in the barn doorway as they check on the rest of the horses before heading back to the house. Killian joins them at her father's request, with the mention of a nightcap, but when her father pours a healthy measure of scotch into a glass and presses it into her hands, she just stares at the amber liquid for several long minutes before sitting it back down untouched on the table and leaving the silent kitchen with the mumbled declaration that she's heading to bed.

It only takes a minute to stumble in a daze through her bedtime routine before she's crawling into the cold bed. She turns her back to the partially open door, to the light from the hall that streams through the crack, and listens to the quiet voices of her parents and Killian in the kitchen. She can only make out bits and pieces of the conversation, catching names of the other horses they've lost in the past, memories and stories of unforgettable moments, and she really should be out there with them, taking part in cathartic discussion, but instead she's just here, alone in bed, staring at the wall, unable to sleep and unable to cry.

She tries to sleep, she really does, but it doesn't seem to matter how many times she counts until she loses track, or how often she tosses and turns, she just can't seem to get the image of Cricket's tarp-covered body out of her head.

Things quiet down in the kitchen as the hour grows late, and Emma feigns sleep when her mother tiptoes down the hall and pokes her head into the room, either believing or simply accepting the rouse, because she disappears after a few long seconds.

There's some more noise in the living room, Killian and her father's voices clearer now, and she wishes she could smile at what, under different circumstances, would be a rather entertaining conversation.

"You shouldn't be alone out there tonight," David says, clearly referencing Killian's intention to return to the apartment.

"I'll be fine. If you'll recall, I'm hardly a stranger to tragedy, Dave."

"Still, I'd feel better if you slept here for the night."

With a sigh, Killian seems to agree. "Find me a pillow and I'll cozy up on the couch, then."

There's a beat of silence before her father speaks again. "You don't have to sleep on the couch." More silence. "Oh for fuck's sake, Killian, don't make me say it."

"I'm afraid I'm going to need you to say it, mate. I want to be certain it wasn't a misunderstanding come morning."

"Fine, fine, have it your way. If Emma is okay with it, I'm okay with you spending the night in her bed." Silence again. "To _sleep_," David clarifies.

"Aye. No funny business. Cross my heart."

More silence and then Emma can practically hear her father roll his eyes. "Just… go. Before I change my mind."

Footsteps sound down the hall then, pausing outside her door for a second before Killian slowly pushes it open. He closes it most of the way behind him, leaving it unlatched for propriety's sake.

It's tempting to feign sleep with him as well, wait for him to simply curl up behind her, but she knows that he'll see right through the flimsy act, feel the tension in her body, and call her out on it, so she beats him to the punch by rolling over noisily and folding the blankets back in invitation.

"Still awake, love?" he asks, his shadow stepping further into the darkened room.

She flips the lamp on and nods. "Can't seem to sleep."

"You heard your father and I talking."

It's not really a question, but she answers it anyway. "Yes, now hurry up and get in here."

He discards his sweater and flannel first before dropping his jeans and draping it all neatly over the edge of the laundry hamper. She wants him shirtless, but he keeps it on, probably for the same reason he left the door unlatched, and she curls into him the second he climbs into bed.

"Hell of a night," he whispers against her temple after she switches the light off.

She scoffs lightly. That's a bit of an understatement.

He hugs her tighter and presses a kiss to her forehead. "You doing all right, love?"

She doesn't nod, just nuzzles against his chest, dipping her fingers beneath his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. "Better now that you're here."

He kisses her softly, tasting like scotch and sleep. "Good." It's barely a whisper. "I'm not going anywhere. Let's try to get some sleep, aye?"

And she tries, but it's a long time coming. Killian drifts off while combing his fingers through her hair and as she lies awake, blinking into the darkness, listening to his quiet breathing, she wonders if maybe she shouldn't have turned down that scotch quite so quickly.

When she finally falls asleep sometime in the small hours between morning and night, she dreams of Cricket and that summer when she was thirteen and had a bit of an obsession with show jumping. Cricket had been one of the few horses they owned with a natural aptitude for jumping, and she'd spent long hours each weekend that summer, trailering him around to local jumper shows with her father.

She wakes shortly after dawn to the memory of their first winning ribbon, the tears finally falling as she presses her face to Killian's chest and sobs quietly for the loss of the kind chestnut gelding.

Killian wakes but doesn't say anything, just holds her and lets her cry, his hand soothing over her back, tracing the topography of her spine and shaking shoulders until she quiets. She reaches for Kleenex, blowing her nose, knowing she must look like shit, but Killian just smiles at her and kisses her cheeks and her nose, her forehead and puffy eyelids before she finally tugs him down for a proper kiss, her breath catching at the gentleness with which he returns it.

She shares the memory with Killian; of the disastrous warm-up on that rainy summer morning, where she fell off in the ring and got mud all over her thigh and the seat of her pants. Thankfully, her mother had made her pack an extra pair of breeches, and after a quick change, the rest of the day had gone much more successfully.

Killian tells her about one afternoon back in March when he had first started working for her parents. He had a hell of a time remembering which horse went in which stall for the first week or so, and when he accidentally put Cricket in the wrong stall, the gelding had simply reached over the door, opened the latch with his teeth, and casually strolled across the aisle to the correct enclosure.

They have a good laugh at that, and when she yawns, Killian tries to convince her that they should go back to sleep for a few more hours. She lies and says that she's not tired, even as she yawns again, but Killian tells her that sleep or not, he desires to spend a while longer in her bed, not knowing when Dave will see fit to allow him back in it again.

She doesn't really mean to, but she sleeps easier now, dreamless in his arms, waking this time a little more ready to face the day.

Her parents are already out in the barn feeding the horses, and after coffee and half a bagel at Killian's insistence (she really isn't that hungry), they help her parents turn out, deciding to leave the mucking of stalls until after they bury Cricket.

Hand-digging a large enough grave is back-breaking work, but there's something about it that Emma appreciates. It feels a little like giving back in a way. Cricket had carried them all at one point or another. Now they all do their part to lay him to rest, saying their goodbyes in the misty mid-morning sun.

After that, business for the day continues on as usual, though slightly subdued. They receive a number of heartfelt condolences from guests throughout the afternoon, and that night after a quick dinner, they all head out together for a quiet evening trail ride.

Emma and Killian have been working with the new horses quite frequently of late, and the dark brown gelding and paint pony, who they've decided to call Tod and Copper respectively (in keeping with her mother's Disney tradition and naming them for _The Fox and the Hound_), are definitely ready to be added to the roster for trail rides. Copper no longer balks when Emma urges him through water, and Tod is as steady and reliable as ever.

Her parents ride side by side behind her and Killian as they pass through the yellowing hayfields, and when the sun starts to set, they watch its slow descent from the hill overlooking their little cemetery. The fresh-dug mound of dirt marks Cricket's grave and Emma knows that tomorrow her father will get to work on carving out and engraving a new tombstone like he has for every other departed soul in the small field of sorrow.

It's dark by the time they get back, the days already growing shorter as August comes to a close. Tomorrow is the start of September. It's also the day Killian finally gets to bring Avast home, and Emma has to admit that despite the lingering melancholy of the day, she's excited for it.

They finish up in the barn, putting the horses away and doing night check as a family. Her parents head back to the house first with some vague comment about seeing her and Killian in the morning and Emma chooses to take that as them giving her the go-ahead to spend the night with Killian in the apartment.

She has to run into the house for a change of clothes and a couple other things, but she tells Killian she'll be up in a few minutes.

The small second story dwelling is mostly dark when she climbs the stairs to step through the open door; lit only by the lamp on the bedside table and the muted green glow of the hour on the appliances. Killian stands in the small kitchen, downing a glass of water, and she tosses her cloth book bag onto the bed before joining him at the counter.

He cringes slightly when she lifts his arm to slip under it at his side, and she steps back, gently running her fingers over his shoulder. "You're sore?"

"Must have strained something while digging earlier." He rotates his shoulder joint with only a slight grimace. "A good night's sleep should help."

Settling her hand at the crook of his elbow, Emma gestures toward the bathroom. "A nice hot shower might help, too." He really did do most of the digging this morning. "I don't make a point of doing it often, but I give a pretty mean back rub."

He raises an eyebrow and herds her toward the bathroom with his hands on her hips, his lips cold and wet against her neck from the water he just swallowed. "That so, love?"

Grinning, really smiling for what feels like the first time since yesterday afternoon, she reaches into the shower to turn the water on. "Start by losing the clothes," she teases, frowning slightly at the harsh brightness of the light over the sink – it doesn't contribute much to the relaxing atmosphere she's gearing for here.

Killian seems to notice the dissatisfied look on her face because suddenly he's turning to leave the room without explanation, returning a moment later with the large lantern he'd been holding when she'd returned home on that stormy night way back at the end of May.

He lights it and switches off the harsh fluorescent. "Better?"

"Getting there. You're still dressed," she complains, grabbing for the hem of his shirt.

They help each other undress, clothing falling between kisses and laughter until they're both naked, standing barefoot on the tiled floor of the small bathroom. And there's still some lingering sadness over Cricket's death, but it's easy to let go of it when Killian is pressing soft kisses to her shoulders and neck, across her collarbones and down her chest before she stops him. "Keep that up and you'll miss out on both the shower and the backrub," she scolds even as her own touch wanders lower over his chest, her fingers dragging over his ribs.

"Get in the shower, Killian," she demands, pinching his side when he ignores her warning in favour of nuzzling between her breasts.

He lets her go long enough to step into the shower and then he's reaching for her again, pulling her under the spray with him and burying his face in her neck. "Bloody hell, love. I've missed you."

"You see me every day…" she says as she attempts to turn him so that she has better access to his shoulders. It's no use though, not when he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to release her.

"Aye, but it's been over a week since I've had you naked. We've been woefully short on privacy of late, darling."

His tongue does something sinful, twisting hot and wet behind her ear, and she shudders as heat rushes to pool between her thighs. She can feel him half-erect against her hip, his hands wandering over her ribs in a lazy caress, and god, she's missed him too, but he really could use that backrub. Besides, she _wants_ to give it to him. They can call it foreplay; because she knows there's no way in hell they're going to sleep unsatisfied.

"I've missed you too," she tells him, tugging on his hair to pull his head back so she can meet his eyes. They're dark and wide with arousal in the low light of the lantern streaming through the foggy glass doors. "Now let me give you a backrub, then we'll finish up in the shower, and after that, you can take me to bed and have me however you like, okay?"

"However I like," he repeats, the grin on his face matching the one in his words. "You sure about that, love? It might be a while before I let you sleep."

She doesn't doubt it. "Yes, now turn around and behave yourself."

He waggles his eyebrows at her before doing as told, allowing her to stand beneath the spray while he faces the far wall.

She doesn't bother with soap to start, not wanting to lose traction on his skin as she works her thumbs and knuckles over the musculature of his back and shoulders, kneading her way up and down opposing sides of his spine. When she loosens a particularly stubborn knot from the left side of his upper trapezius, he groans in a delicious sort of pained pleasure, taking a step forward to brace his right hand against the wall.

Running her hands higher, she massages his neck before working her fingers up through his damp locks, scratching lightly at his scalp. His head drops forward, his left hand joining his right against the wall and she laughs at the mumbled "god, lass, 's bloody heaven," that tumbles from his lips.

There's a brief grunt of disappointment when she reaches for the body wash. He tries to turn around, but she places a firm hand at the center of his back. "No, stay, you're good there."

"Are you planning to let me touch you sometime this evening, love, or shall we keep on with the torture?"

She lathers her hands together, presses her entire body against his back, and reaches forward to run her soapy hands over his strong forearms, delighting in his exhaled curse. "Fucking hell, torture it is."

She traces the bones of his wrists and the tendons flexing from his knuckles first, the heat of the shower dilating his veins; she traces those too, setting disarray to the dark hair on his forearms. Dragging her hands slowly over his elbows and biceps, she glides her touch around to his triceps, beneath his arms to his hairy pits, and up over his shoulders before pressing her lips to his ear. "Would you like me to stop?"

He shudders against her and shakes his head. "No."

"I didn't think so."

She lathers soap over his back next before crouching behind him and admiring the view; large feet and trim ankles, she scrubs her hands over his strong calves, the ridge of his shins, white suds contrasting with dark leg hair as she kisses the back of his thigh, noses the crease of his ass and feels him tense. She traces the tendons at the back of his knees, admiring the strength in his thighs as she works her way up to his athletic backside.

There's tension in his body now that has little to do with pain and everything to do with pleasure, and god, she's not even looking at his front right now, doesn't really need to, to picture his beautiful cock, drawn up thick and wanting against his stomach.

His breathing is shallow and quick when she stands, and his hands pressed hard against the tile, his right balling into a fist when she leans against his back again.

His skin is slick and slippery with soap and she rubs her breasts against his back, her nipples aching for more substantial contact as she pours another helping of body wash into her palm and wraps her arms around him to lather it through his chest hair. She works it up over his collarbones and throat, feeling him swallow as she toys with a nipple, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath her fingers while she draws her teeth over the shell of his ear, enjoying this soapy seduction she seems to have unsurprisingly fallen into.

His stomach quivers as she drops her touch lower, her fingers tracing but not following the trail of hair that continues down past his belly button. Blindly bypassing where she's certain he desperately wants her, she tiptoes her fingers over the line of his hipbones, down to the crease of his thighs, unable and uncaring to suppress the wolfish smile plastered upon her lips.

"Fuck, Emma," he curses through gritted teeth, "stop teasing and touch me."

"I am touching you," she points out, her grin widening, laughing when he growls, knowing that she's likely going to pay for this later. And _fuck_, she's looking forward to it.

"Your hand on my cock, love. _Please._" It's as close as she's ever heard him come to begging, desperation edging sharp and frantic with the lilt of his words.

"Like this?" she asks with a smirk, wishing she had a better view as she draws her index finger slowly up over his balls, the texture of his scrotum rough in contrast to the silk of his cock, curling her finger to tease her knuckle over the thick vein that runs the underside of his shaft.

His hips jump, his cock twitching, and she wraps her fingers around his straining length, giving him the relief he seeks, working her hand over him in long, firm strokes.

He pumps into her fist and she holds him close, her free arm wrapped around him, her hand over his heart, her fingers in his soap-matted chest hair as he does most of the work for her, his hips moving in jerky thrusts.

"Emma," he pants, white-knuckled against the shower wall. It sounds a little bit like a protest, a warning, like this isn't at all what he had planned, and maybe it's not exactly what she had planned either, but she's all in, invested in this particular outcome now, and she intends to see it through.

The water has gone tepid against her back, but she pays it little mind with the heat of him at her front and the length of him against her palm. He's close now. She can hear it in his breathing, feel it as his hips change rhythm, and when she'd insisted on giving him a massage in the shower, she hadn't really intended to jerk him off afterwards, but here she is, with her fingers around his dick, experiencing some seriously hot déjà vu, because they've done this before, and she'll gladly do it again.

He stumbles a step closer to the wall, pressing his forehead to the tile for a second as his right hand joins hers on his cock, flexing, guiding her movements, and then he turns enough to kiss her, his lips bruising, sloppy and desperate over her own.

She feels the moment it happens; his lips break from hers as something guttural and unintelligible spills from them. His hand stills, falling away as she strokes him through his orgasm, watching his release hit the fogged up shower doors; the not-quite letters of some ancient erotic language with no discernible alphabet marking the frosted glass.

His eyes are shut tight as he pants through the pleasure, standing on his own two feet, but gripping her hip to steady himself. The suds on his chest and stomach are still plentiful, so she smoothes them downward, spreading them to gently wash his softening length before steering them both back beneath the stream of the water to rinse off.

He kisses her with something approaching an exasperated growl, holding her tight so that his chest hair rubs against her nipples, and for a brief moment, she wonders if it's possible to come from that alone. She'd pushed her own desire down, entirely focused on tending to him, but now it rears its head again, her thighs slicks with want, her clit throbbing, and _Jesus_, he needs to touch her now.

And maybe it should be a little bit embarrassing how she practically rubs against him like a cat in heat. It probably would be if she weren't so intent on seeking out some kind of relief from the growing need that burns through her veins to centre between her legs, but as it is, she's apparently okay with grinding her clit against the hairy press of his thigh while he kisses her senseless beneath increasingly cold spray of the shower.

The empty ache between her legs is becoming a problem and suddenly she's regretting getting him off, because while she knows his recovery time is good, it's not _that_ good, and she really just wants him to be inside her right now. She wants that unity, that breath-taking togetherness, and waiting, well, it just really sucks.

She whines, flat out _whines_, and he laughs, the infuriating bastard _laughs_ as he withdraws his leg and stops touching her completely to reach for the showerhead and rinse his release from the doors as if she isn't standing there naked and desperate and wanting. And she should have known something like this would happen, that he would retaliate for her teasing, and it's fair, she knows it is, but right now she just wants to complain about how _not_ fair it is.

And then it hits her; a supremely obvious solution that she feels a little bit stupid for not having considered immediately. If he's not going to touch her; she'll just have to touch herself.

Except she doesn't even manage that, because Killian's hand intercepts hers on its way south, and then his voice is scolding as he holds her arms firmly at her sides. "Ah, I think not, love. You promised that I could have you however I wished and this is not how I wish."

She glares up at him defiantly, fighting half-heartedly in his grasp. "Fine," she concedes when his grip only tightens around her wrists; not enough to be painful, not really. "How do you want me?"

"I want you," he whispers, his lips against her ear, and she wants to scream because he's so close, but he doesn't touch her, not how she wants it, "to be a good lass; dry off quickly and settle yourself on the bed." He releases her wrists, turns the water off, and sends her out into the bathroom with a pat on the ass.

The cotton of the towel is rough against her oversensitive skin, goose bumps spreading despite the humid warmth of the apartment, and Killian dries off next to her, watching her closely. She doesn't really mean to do it, but the pressure of the towel between her legs as she dries off is enough to cause her breath to catch, and before she knows what's happening, the towel is no longer in her hands and Killian is pressed to her back.

"Am I going to have to tie you up?"

She knows he only said it in jest, but suddenly she's seriously considering it.

It's not something she's ever done before. None of this is. Not really. Sex had always just been sex. But now it feels like so much more. It's careful and loving and exhilarating, but this almost seems like a battle of wills, a game, a challenge, and she's never been one to shrink from a challenge.

Worrying at her lower lip, she twists to face him, tilting her head, studying his reaction, needing a clear line of sight to his eyes as she tests the waters here. "Maybe?"

One simple word and his expression softens, something gentle and unsure, somewhere between a smile and a frown as he moves to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Emma, I didn't mean... it was just a..." he sighs, "we don't have to."

And maybe it's because he's entirely willing to abandon the idea that she suddenly wants it so badly.

There's a terry cloth robe on the back of the bathroom door and she quickly pulls the belt from its loops, holding it out, offering it to him. "I want you to," she insists. "I _trust_ you."

Their towels fall forgotten to the floor as Killian takes the soft grey length of cloth from her hands and shakes his head in disbelief. "Bloody hell. Are you certain, love?"

Backing up into the bedroom to take a seat at the edge of the bed, she holds out her wrists in offering. "_I trust you._"

With one last shake of his head, he pulls her up and into a kiss as he works the blankets down to the foot of the bed. "I love you," he murmurs against her lips. "I'll never bloody understand what I did to deserve you, but I love you, you know that, right?"

"I know," she nods as she moves into the centre of the bed with him, stretching her arms out above her head. And one of these days – sometime soon, she swears – she's actually going to stop being afraid and silly and superstitious, and actually tell the man that she loves him back because god, he deserves it.

Right now though, she's distracted from those thoughts, because he's pressing kisses into her palms and against the skin of her wrists as he winds the fabric into place, binding her hands above her head and securing them to the headboard with care. He kisses her again, slowly, sweetly, before sitting back on his heels, naked in all his glory, and raking his gaze over her body as if she's a puzzle and he just can't decide where to start.

She splays her legs slightly, hoping he'll take the hint, but her optimism is misplaced because he simply starts at her shoulder, nuzzling into the hollow of her armpit before trailing wet kisses and ticklish scruff up the sensitive underside of her arm to her elbow, to her wrist, leaning over her torso to complete the same path on the other side.

"If I ask nicely, darling," he rumbles against the ridge of her collarbone, "will you allow me to kiss every freckle? Will you tell me the story behind each scar?" His thumb brushes over the one on her chest. "I want to know you, Emma. Become intimately acquainted with every inch of your skin."

She wants to laugh, thinks that maybe she nods, tangling her legs with his in an effort to feel _more_. "Yes," she grits out, unable to deny him despite her impatience, drawing a deep breath in through her nose in an attempt to relax and give him the luxury of this exploration. "Just get on with it."

He chuckles warmly and kisses her chin, his hand skimming over her ribs, teasing the undersides of her breasts before dropping to her hip and stilling there. "In due time, love. First I'm going to do as you did to me, and touch you everywhere but where you most desperately want to be touched." He rubs his stubbled cheek over the scar on her chest. "Now tell me, darling, how did you get this?"

She recalls the memory as he works his way up to the scar at the corner of her eye. "Bonfire. I was fourteen. Ruby thought it would be a great idea to toss an almost empty container of bug spray into the fire pit."

"And this one?" he asks, kissing her temple as his hand splays warm and solid over her abdomen.

"Leroy. I was eight. He ran me into a tree."

There's another on her arm; a cooking disaster. Her thigh; disagreement with a barbed wire fence. Her knees and shins; biking, running, jumping, falling – the hazards of childhood on a gravel driveway. He even asks about the bottom of her left foot; a rusty nail while climbing barefoot in the hayloft. And then he's finally making his way back up her body to nuzzle between her breasts, turning his head to capture one nipple between his lips while his fingers twist the other into a matching peak.

Pleasure rockets through her veins, snapping from nerve to nerve to settle between her legs, and when Killian requests that she flip over to expose her back, she does so with thinly veiled annoyance and a muffled comment about torture, to which he simply replies that "turnabout is fair play, love."

There's enough slack in the terrycloth that her wrists are thankfully not twisted unnaturally and it's hard to pretend to be mad at him when he gently gathers her still damp hair from her face and twists it out of the way in a messy braid. His lips find her cheek, her ear, her neck, his fingers checking the knots at her wrists, and all lingering annoyance quickly fades in favour of something softer. Her earlier urgency lessens, calmer arousal settling into her bones, a weight that presses her hips into the mattress as Killian hovers over her back, dropping kisses down her spine in a lazy show of affection.

He follows the backs of her thighs right down to her toes before urging her up onto her knees as his hands stroke over her hips, his renewed erection brushing briefly against the back of her thigh, and then, before she even has a chance to ask for it, his arm is wrapping around her and his fingers are sliding slick between her folds.

He circles her clit, spreading arousal, teasing but not quite touching her fully as his other hand wanders the curves of her ass, fingers dancing along the front of her thigh and then back around to rest at her entrance, stroking but not pressing inside.

"Killian," she sighs, trying to shift back into his touch, but she's at the end of her tether, both literally and figuratively, and goddamnit, she needs more.

"_Please._"

It's an echo of his earlier plea and she hates how needy she sounds, how desperate he's got her feeling, and she's pretty sure she spits a muffled "god, I hate you," into the pillow just before he finally takes pity on her, curling two fingers into her heat, stroking in time with the motion of his thumb as it comes into direct contact with her clit, driving her headlong toward the edge of some proverbial cliff.

And when she's almost there, teetering on the precipice, panting, her fingers tingling from the pleasured pain of pulling too hard on her bindings; he stops. Presses a kiss to her spine and stops. Withdraws his fingers as she gasps in protest.

"What the hell are y-" she doesn't get to finish her sentence; the words die abruptly on her tongue, smothered by the damp pillow against her cheek, because suddenly Killian's lining himself up and pushing into her slowly.

When he's fully seated, the hairy rub of his thighs firm against the smoothness of hers, he stills. "Better?" he asks, and all she can do is nod in agreement.

And just when she thinks he's finally going to move; he doesn't. And she's got another_ 'what the hell?' _poised on the tip of her tongue, but then his thumb is at work and it doesn't even matter that his hips aren't moving because it's enough, he's enough, and she's right _there_ in a heartbeat, her breath catching in her lungs as her vision blurs and pleasure shudders and shakes its way outward through her limbs.

Aftershocks roll through her system, thunderclouds headed for the horizon, her legs trembling, muscles contracting around his still very much aroused length, and though he obviously hadn't joined her in orgasm, when he speaks, he sounds nearly as breathless as she feels, his voice scratchy, unsteady against her shoulder blade. "Bloody fuck."

She'd answer him, probably use words if she were even remotely capable of doing so, but as it is, she feels a lot like jello that's been left out in the heat for too long; her brain and her body an interesting combination of wobbly and melted. She grunts in response instead, and he withdraws from her, prompting a whimper as he urges her further up the bed so that he can work her wrists free from the knotted fabric.

"Hi," she finally manages, pleasantly boneless, when she's flopped on her back looking up at him.

He chuckles and gently massages feeling back into her hands and wrists. "Still hate me, love?"

Rolling her eyes, she reaches for his shoulders, pushing and pulling at him until he's back into position between her thighs. "Only if you don't finish this."

Kissing her slowly, thoroughly, he sinks into her easily, fitting exquisitely against her, within her, and she almost wants to laugh at her previous notion of perfection, at how wrong she was and at just how right this is, but he moves and all thoughts of any real significance are lost to the tide of his hips and the depths of his eyes.

It's slow and gentle and not at all what she'd imagined wanting at the start of the night, but it sweeps her up, carries her higher, and she falls to pieces around him, under him, once, and then again just before he finally joins her, pressing whispered words of love against her temple, his sweat-slicked back tensing beneath her fingers.

He pulls out, wordless and warm to collapse beside her, breathing heavily as she snuggles into his side, sleepy and sated, feeling safe and deliciously sore. Her limbs feel like rubber, and lead weights press at her eyelids, and before she can spare even a passing thought to cleaning up, she's drifting effortlessly into slumber.

* * *

September dawns bright and warm, the sun shining strong past curtains they hadn't bothered closing the night before. She wakes without an alarm, and with Killian still sleeping soundly beside her, she stretches and slips quietly from the bed. Evidence of last night's activities remains a sticky mess between her thighs, and as much as she revelled in the feel of it then, today it's definitely a lot less pleasant.

She showers in just a few short minutes, changing while Killian still slumbers, before pouring coffee and puttering around loudly in the kitchen in an attempt to rouse him.

Watching him wake is something she doesn't think she'll ever tire of, and she only feels a little bit bad for the reassurance she garners from the flicker of worry turned disappointment on his face when he finds himself alone in bed.

He showers, she changes the sheets, and afterwards he talks her through the puppy-proofing of the apartment while they hungrily devour almost half a box of Frosted Flakes.

It's not even her dog, but still she spends most of the day just waiting for evening to arrive so that they can bring Avast home. The cabins are fully booked for the Labour Day weekend, and it's their last rush of the summer season; trail rides running nearly nonstop throughout the day as her parents pitch in to get all of their guests settled.

They wrap up their last trail ride by six o'clock and are in town by seven to pick up Avast from Ashley's.

At twelve weeks old, the pup has grown significantly; lanky and full of energy, but thankfully mild mannered and fully housebroken. Ashley loads them up with a bag full of toys and treats and kibble, telling them that Avast just had her twelve-week booster yesterday and that she'll just need her last set of shots at sixteen weeks.

It's not exactly a cheap favour, and with all the supplies Ashey's thrusting at them, combined with the fact that Killian is adopting the pup free of charge, Emma's not the least bit surprised when he invites her to join them for dinner.

They'd been planning to grab takeout at Granny's, followed by a trip to the park to tire Avast out, and it only takes a minute of insisting before Ashley's hooking the leash to Maya's collar and following them down to the Jeep.

Fetching the keys from the back pocket of Killian's jeans, Emma throws their loot into the back of the vehicle, locking the doors when they decide it's too nice of an evening to bother driving to their destination.

It's a short walk from Ashley's apartment complex to the main street of town, and a balmy summer breeze tangles through her hair as they stroll unhurriedly down the sidewalk, passing tourists and townspeople alike. Couples hold hands and children run ahead of their parents, laughing and screaming sounds of summer joy as they pass souvenir shops and water sport and camping outlets, brightly coloured clothing and bathing suits arranged on outdoor racks. Clearance signs add hue to the seasonal rainbow, and somewhere down the block, music plays, bass thrumming as laughter and conversation sound from a street-front patio bar.

A few more days, one last summer long weekend, and the town will slowly transition back to its usual state of subdued activity. By the time winter rolls around, tourists will be a rare sight; limited mostly to diehard skiers and the hardiest of wilderness adventurers.

Granny's is still busy when they arrive; summer meaning that the dinner rush extends well past eight o'clock, and Killian presses the leash into her hand as he eyes the crowd on the patio. "I'll order. Why don't you two head to the park and scout out some seats?"

They decide on burgers and fries ("yes love, onion rings for you, I know"), and Killian draws her in to place a kiss on her cheek before heading through the open gate and into the diner.

"So," Ashley says as they start toward the park, "things seem to be going well there."

_There_ obviously being her relationship with Killian. "Really well," Emma admits, and Ashley gives her a knowing look.

"I'm glad. After everything, you deserve to be happy." Ashley doesn't mention Neal specifically, but it's not as if she has to. "Killian's a good guy."

Emma agrees and they weave their way through the busy gravel lot leading into the park. "Sometimes I wonder if he's even real," she admits, only half joking. She knows his history, knows that he's more than a little bit damaged, but other than the odd nightmare, she hasn't really seen much evidence of it.

It's not really something that she wants to focus on though; his potential shortcomings or talk of their relationship in general, because she's never really been one to do well with sitting at the centre of attention, so instead she tosses the ball back into Ashley's court, asking what Alexa and Sean are up to as they grab seats at an empty picnic table under one of the pavilions.

The baseball diamond in the park is lit up, bright white lights illuminating the Friday night game as townsfolk gather to watch the local teen league battle it out with kids from the neighbouring town. There are cheers, too loud music, and an announcer who sounds a lot like he's already got a pretty good head start on his long weekend libations.

Emma's pleased to notice that Avast is alert but doesn't seem fazed in the slightest by the commotion. Smiling, she directs the conversation toward the pup's wonderfully laid back personality. "Is she always this well behaved?"

Ashley stretches out a leg to ruffle Maya's fur with the toe of her converse. "She's great, isn't she? Got her momma's brains, eh, Maya?" The husky flips her head back to look at them, comical, but clearly agreeing. "If Kilian hadn't already fallen in love with her, I'd be tempted to keep her."

Emma smiles and pats the lounging pup's head. Blue eyes, strikingly similar to Killian's, look up at her, Avast's little tail hammering away at the concrete, and yep, Emma's definitely a little bit in love with the damn dog, too. "I think you'd have been fighting me on that one as well," Emma tells her. "Besides, you've gotta be looking forward to relaxing, getting back to just two mouths to feed... Well, three if you count Sean," she jests.

Ashley laughs. "Three. Definitely three."

Killian joins them with the food a few short minutes later, arriving faster than should be possible, but Granny definitely fancies him, so really, it's not that surprising. He's got a large takeout bag tucked under one arm and a tray of strawberry milkshakes in the other. There's a clear plastic bag holding water bottles dangling from his ring and pinkie fingers, and she loops Avast's leash around the leg of the table so that she can move to help him.

They eat to the sight of the setting sun reflected on the lake, kids splashing at the edge of the sandy shore as the tide rises, filling moats and threatening to wash away sandcastles. Swings creak and crickets chirp, the sound a momentary blip of sadness until she sucks on her straw, noisily finishing her milkshake in a childish show of poor manners. Killian and Ashley join her in the obnoxious act until they're all laughing loudly with the ridiculous stupidity of it.

And god, it feels good, not to think, not to care, just to act and exist and smile, and she loves that she can have moments like this with Killian, where even though they know each other intimately now, they've still got this beautiful camaraderie that remains present whether they're alone or with company.

She'd have to ask Ashley to confirm it, but Emma suspects that her friend doesn't feel at all like some sort of awkward third wheel here, because Killian's great at that too; at making people feel included and valued, and as she leans lightly against his side, watching the sky darken, it's not some grand moment of revelation, it's just quiet acceptance and the realisation that she would very much like a future with this man.

And that hardly scares her at all anymore.

They hang around at the park past nightfall, watching the rest of the baseball game and throwing a Frisbee for the dogs. It's a close thing, but Avast collapses at Killian's feet just before Emma considers switching to left-handed throws, her right shoulder feeling like worn out rubber.

The walk back to Ashley's is slow, Avast lagging behind, and with less than a block to go, Killian scoops the tired pup up in his arms to carry the rest of the way.

"If you let her, she'll hog the bed," Ashley warns them as they say their goodbyes through the open passenger window of the Jeep, Avast sawing logs in the back seat, and when they return to the ranch at quarter past eleven to find the lights in the house switched off for the night, Emma doesn't even hesitate before following Killian and the wobbling pup up the stairs to the apartment.

He sets out the dog bowls and fills the one with water while she uses the bathroom, and as Killian takes his turn behind the closed door, she strips down to her underwear and T-shirt before crawling beneath the covers.

There's a dog bed on the floor, a lonely looking thing, and Avast sits dejectedly next to it, looking very much out of place and a little bit unsure in her new home. The pup blinks her bright blue eyes and that's all it takes for Emma to pat the mattress with a sigh that she knows doesn't sound even remotely put out. "Oh fine, get up here."

Avast immediately hops up to snuggle into Emma's chest at the edge of the mattress, licking Emma's hand as she stretches and flops to her back, taking up far more space than something her size should be capable of. Ashley was right and Emma can't bring herself to be anything but thrilled about it.

The bathroom door opens, Killian standing shirtless in threadbare pyjama bottoms, smiling when he sees them. "Two beautiful lasses hogging my bed. Whatever is a man to do?"

Emma flips back the covers behind her and grins. "You could join them."

* * *

Avast and Duke get on like a house on fire; the pup following the older dog around like an overeager student shadows a mentor. Emma's a little bit worried about how the pup will take to life around horses, but Avast seems to be a natural; curious, yes, wagging her tail excitedly as she touches noses in greeting with several of the horses through the fence, but she seems to almost automatically understand that being underfoot is dangerous, and spends most of the morning lounging with Duke, occasionally wrestling over a stick on the cool concrete of the barn floor.

In hindsight, getting a mostly white dog when you live and work on a ranch probably wasn't the brightest idea, and by dinner time, when Avast is more of a muted greige than anything approaching white, Emma teases Killian mercilessly about it even as she gets roped into helping him bathe the pup.

Sunday finds time for a big gathering over at the cabins. Her mother had advertised it as part of the long weekend festivities, and they spend the latter half of the morning setting up a variety of games and activities in the large clearing. Ruby, Belle, and Will show up to help, as well as a number of Mary Margaret's coworkers and friends from the school. By the time noon rolls around, Emma's got a colourful game of lawn twister spray painted on the grass and is thankful for the continued heat of summer weather, because she and Ruby have both ended up half-soaked in the process of filling and tying hundreds of water balloons.

Killian and Will have got stations for bean bag ladder toss, bocce ball, and (kid/amateur friendly) archery set up, and Belle's been working in conjunction with one of the PTA moms to decorate pillow cases for the afternoon's big potato sack race.

Mary Margaret calls out orders to David and Robin as the men lift additional picnic tables into place, and Regina, the mayor, somehow gets tasked with playing babysitter to Robin's son Roland and a number of the other kids that have already arrived with friends and volunteers alike.

Duke and Avast roam freely around the field in search of anyone willing to throw a ball or offer a belly rub, and Emma trusts that Duke will keep the pup from wandering off or getting into trouble.

One of the closest unused fields gets opened up for parking, freshly cut by Emma herself the previous evening, wanting to prove that she could still successfully drive and operate the full-sized tractor, in spite of her father's scepticism.

Townsfolk who received invites start arriving around one o'clock, and soon the clearing is filled with activity, music playing, and kids running about as fruit trays and chips, homemade baking and a variety of other gladly donated snacks fill the tables, two water troughs filled with ice, serving as drink coolers.

There's a pig roast on an oversized barbeque, and back at the house, waiting in the freezer, Mary Margaret's got a ridiculous number of burgers and hotdogs to add to what Emma's sure will be a successful dinner feast.

The afternoon progresses from evening to night, a gigantic bonfire burning hot into the wee hours as the crowd winds down and people depart, gathering leftovers and garbage to help with the clean-up.

All in all, it's a roaring success, and when Emma crawls into Killian's bed later that night, she doesn't even remember falling asleep.

She doesn't even really acknowledge it at first; spending the night in Killian's bed seems as natural as breathing, but one evening in mid-September, when she's sitting on his couch with Avast snuggled between her knees as she flips pages, nose deep in a mystery novel, Killian comes up from the garage with two laundry baskets, one stacked on top of the other, and settles them with a noisy thud on the coffee table.

"Perhaps you'd like to help me fold these, darling?" he interrupts, his face appearing with a grin over the top of her book as he shoos Avast from the couch and lifts her legs to make room for himself.

"Hmm?" she half answers, sucked into the plot and not quite ready to look away.

He waits until she finishes the page, at least, and then he's lifting the novel from her protesting grasp, sliding the bookmark into place, and setting it out of her reach at the far end of the table.

"Laundry, love," he repeats, and she looks at the towering piles with a childish pout of a frown.

"Give me my book back. I'm not helping you fold your laundry."

He tickles the back of her bare knee and reaches into the top basket for a bright yellow pair of panties to fling at her chest.

"Our laundry," he clarifies with a smirk. "In case you haven't noticed, you've been leaving quite the collection here lately. At least half of these," he gestures to the fabric mountain, "are yours."

"Oh." She looks at the pile of clean clothes and instantly spots another pair of her underwear, her favourite jeans, her brighter plaids mixing with his darker ones… And if she were to look around the apartment, she'd notice one of her bras tossed haphazardly over the bed post and her phone charger plugged into the wall. Alone, they aren't evidence of much, but combined with her toothbrush next to his in the holder, birth control pills, and a growing pile of books and half-used Chap Stick taking over one of the bedside tables… That and her clothes, and her toiletries, and the fact that his kitchen now contains cinnamon and cocoa and all the fixings for late night grilled cheese, and god, how long has it been since she slept in her own bed?

"Oh," she says stupidly, repeating herself, and then she sits up and reaches for the laundry as he puts something mindless on the TV.

The baskets, the clothes; it's all a mixture of his and hers, carefully sorted by weight and colour, and as she folds a pair of his jeans, adding them to the pile between them on the couch, a growing wall of fabric, that's when it hits her.

And maybe she panics just a little bit and reaches for her phone.

Bringing up the group chat with both Ruby and Belle, she glances sideways; making sure Killian is focused on the TV before tapping out a quick message.

**Emma: **Holy shit… guys, I think I might be living with Killian?

She tucks her phone beneath her thigh and continues folding until it vibrates.

**Belle: **You think?

**Ruby: **You're just figuring this out now?!

**Emma: **There's laundry. Joint laundry. As in he's folding my underwear and I'm rolling his socks.

**Ruby:** BAHAHAA!

**Belle: **Is this a bad thing?

**Ruby: **Quick, tell me, I NEED TO KNOW. What colour are his undies. Also… boxers or briefs?

She rolls her eyes and chooses to more or less ignore Ruby.

**Emma: **Be serious. This is serious. I haven't slept in my own bed in over two weeks.

**Belle: **I repeat; is this a bad thing?

**Ruby: **How's the sex?

Emma snorts and Killian glances over at her with a curious smile, as if he's trying to puzzle out her sudden change in mood.

"Something funny?" he asks, shaking out a pair of her leggings. A balled up sock goes flying across the room and Avast quickly fetches it for him, placing it neatly back in his outstretched hand.

"Just Ruby being her usual obnoxious self."

Her phone buzzes again and again, turning into an almost constant vibration, but she folds several more articles of clothing in an effort to at least seem like she's helping out before checking the messages.

**Ruby: **No, but seriously, Em. Seconding Belle here. Is this actually a bad thing? Cause a man willing to wash your laundry? Sounds pretty awesome to me.

**Belle: **Unless he put your bras in with your jeans. Then we have a problem.

**Ruby: **DO WE HAVE A PROBLEM?

**Belle: **Or did he wash red with white?

**Ruby: **Is everything pink?

**Ruby: **Please tell me he turned everything pink.

**Belle: **Unfair, but he could probably get away with pink.

**Ruby: **Can we call you Ken and Barbie?

**Belle: **You can wear matching pink track suits.

**Ruby: **With metallic trim.

**Belle: **Ruby will paint her car pink and give it to you.

**Ruby: **I WILL NOT!

**Ruby: **You will not turn my baby into a bubblegum pink monstrosity. That's it. We're not friends anymore. Take it back!

**Belle: **Fine. How about a horse? We could paint a horse pink.

**Ruby: **I LIKE IT! Instead of Malibu Ken and Barbie, they can be cheesy western Ken and Barbie!

That does it. She can't do it. It's impossible to keep a straight face and the clothes on her lap slide to the floor as she chokes on laughter caused by the ridiculous hilarity of her friends' conversation, bending in half as she pictures her and Killian decked out in pink suede chaps with matching plaid and cowboy hats.

"Emma?" he asks, because he clearly doesn't understand why she's killing herself laughing here, and at the look of concern on his face she just scrolls back up to the top of the conversation and shoves the phone into his hands.

"Here," she gasps, "just. Read."

His eyes soften as soon as he reads her first message, and for a second she thinks he might stop right there and insist on discussing their living arrangements, but he keeps going and she watches mock offense at her friends' lack of faith in his laundering abilities quickly change to humour as he scrolls further down through the conversation. When he gets to the bottom, he chuckles and pulls up the keyboard. Hovering with his thumbs over the screen, he looks at her and lifts an eyebrow. "May I?"

She moves the clothes from between them and scoots closer to him on the couch, anxious to see what he intends to type. "Be my guest."

His thumbs work quickly over the screen and he pauses at several points to confer with her before continuing on to hit send.

**Emma:** Hello, Ruby. Since you apparently NEED to know; my (yes, this is Killian) "undies" range in colour from black to blue, including a spectacular array of earth-tone plaids. Also, to satisfy another of your rather perturbing curiosities; the answer is boxers. The sex, however, is not your concern. Though my laundering capabilities certainly seem to be. I'll have you both know that though I am but a lowly man, I know enough to separate out delicates and vibrant colours. Please, have a little faith. I'm insulted. As for the colour pink, I can assure you, I look quite dashing in it. Now, ladies, if you'll excuse us, I do believe Emma and I have the subject of our living arrangements to broach. I cannot speak for her, but I certainly think cohabitation falls under the heading of most excellent things.

He locks her phone even as it starts vibrating wildly again, and when he returns it to her hands, she silences the vibrations and sits it aside, turning to face him with a bit of an unsure smile.

She doesn't know where exactly to start, but thankfully he's always been much better at this sort of thing than she is, and he's already speaking, saving her at least, from the initial awkward stumble that frequently comes with trying to put her thoughts into words.

"If you're uncomfortable being here, love, by no means do I expect you to stay. We don't have to be living together if you feel it's too soon or too much. But with that being said; I feel I must selfishly inform you of just how much I love having you here. You make what was once mostly just a place to shower and sleep, so much more of a home."

He reaches out to take her hand before continuing. "I love that you're the last thing I see before closing my eyes at night, and the first thing I glimpse upon waking in the morning. Or how, if I wake somewhere in the middle, to my heart pounding, caught in my throat, even in your sleep, you curl around me just that much closer, and instantly it makes everything all right. I love how you look curled up on the couch with a book and our dog, and though I'm aware I complain about it, there's no start to the day like fighting over who gets the first bite of bacon or the last cup of coffee. So yes, Emma, selfishly, I very much want you to be living here with me."

Sliding closer, she studies the look on his face, saddened to find that it falls somewhere between hopeful honesty and hardened resolve, as if he's just waiting for her to reject him, to say that it's too much or too soon or too scary, that she wants to retreat or back out and suddenly she can't reassure him fast enough.

All but scrambling onto his lap, she settles over his thighs and cups his cheeks, dragging her thumb over his lower lip before ducking her head to catch his downcast eyes. "Hey, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere," she promises, and god does she mean it. "I guess I was just a little surprised. It all feels so natural and effortless and we kind of just walked right into this next step without me even realizing it. I mean our laundry is all mixed together there," she looks over her shoulder at the half folded mess on the table, "and I'm doing something as mundane as folding your socks? I was a little bit shocked, but not in a bad way, so if you want me and my mess and," she pulls a long blonde hair from where it clings to his shirt, "what will likely be a lot more of this; then I'm right there with you on considering cohabitation a most excellent thing, okay?"

And maybe she's finally getting a little better at this whole impassioned speech thing, because for once Killian's the one looking a little bit dumbstruck instead of her.

Pressing against his chin to close his mouth, she links her fingers at the back of his neck and goes in for a kiss.

"You know what I love most about living with you?"

He lifts an eyebrow knowingly, and his hands are warm on her thighs, but he remains quiet and waits for her to tell him.

Shifting forward on his lap, she puts her lips to his ear.

* * *

The day of her parents' departure doesn't so much dawn as it does arrive at some ungodly hour in the middle of the night.

The alarm sounds and it's not even music on the radio; instead it's some monotonous late night talk show host, and after slapping the snooze button with far more force than is probably required, Emma snuggles back against Killian's bare chest with a groan.

His fingers spread warm and comforting against her lower back, below the fabric of one of his t-shirts, and when he speaks, his voice is thickly accented and gravelly with sleep. "You should stay here, love. Sleep more. I can take your parents to the airport."

Pressing her nose to his skin, she inhales and shakes her head slightly. "Few more minutes; we'll go together."

His answer isn't much more than warm breath against her hair, and she dozes lightly, fighting to open her eyes when the alarm sounds again ten minutes later.

At least this time she can hear the coffee percolating, and she switches on the lamp to illuminate the darkened apartment before regretfully slipping from the bed to stand barefoot in the kitchen. She leans with her elbows against the counter and her head in her hands, watching the coffee brew. Avast hops down from the foot of the bed, gives her a perplexed, if not slightly unimpressed look, and then curls up in a speckled ball on the mat in front of the sink.

Killian joins her a moment later, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as he wraps an arm around her waist and reaches into the cupboard for their mugs.

They sluggishly get dressed while sipping at too hot coffee, and when they join her parents in the house, Avast curling up next to Duke on his bed, Emma's not even remotely surprised to find her mother wide awake and disgustingly cheery considering it's – she looks at the clock and pouts – barely quarter past two in the morning.

Her father looks significantly less like the perfect embodiment of bright eyed and bushy tailed, and not for the first time in her life, Emma looks at her father, nods at her mother, and asks, "are we sure she's human?"

The trip to the airport is faster during the dead of night, and Emma spends most of the nearly two hour drive half asleep in the back seat. Her father sits in the front of the Jeep with Killian, and her mother goes on endlessly about the itinerary she's painstakingly arranged for the coming week.

Emma and Killian don't bother entering the airport with her parents; they simply say their goodbyes at the car, exchanging hugs before climbing back into their seats while Mary Margaret shouts a promise across the crowd to message when they land.

From there it's a short drive to the nearest 24 hour coffee shop for more caffeine and something approaching breakfast. A gigantic ball of gooey dough, cinnamon sugar, and creamy icing probably isn't the best thing to be eating at 4:30 in the morning, but the very fact that it's 4-fucking-30 in the morning means that she really couldn't care less about the artery clogging qualities of the sugary monstrosity she's currently cramming into her mouth with sticky fingers while Killian watches, clearly amused.

"Whaf?" she mumbles around a mouthful, eyeing his banana bran muffin with something approaching disdain, possibly pity. "You're just jealous."

She drives home; he holds her hand and falls asleep in the passenger seat twenty minutes in, missing what turns out to be a beautiful sunrise.

By the time they arrive back at the ranch, what is probably a slight overload of caffeine and sugar, have Emma nearly vibrating with restless energy. Killian's awake now, stretching in his seat, and his shirt rides up to expose the dark trail of hair on his abdomen. Unable to stop herself, she reaches out to drag her nails over it before dropping the keys in his lap and sliding out of the Jeep. "Come on, Jones." She ducks her head and grins at him. "We've got work to do."

With the dogs fed and free to wander around outside, they move to the barn to get started on the morning's chores. And it's not like they're doing anything out of the ordinary; it's the same routine they've run through almost every morning for months, but somehow, without her parents here, it feels different. It feels more like it's theirs; their responsibility, their business, their future, and she continues to reflect on that as they begin turning out the horses.

Killian's phone rings just as they're heading back into the barn for the second group, and when he fishes it out of his pocket to glance at the caller ID, his previously relaxed demeanor instantly hardens.

"I've to take this, love." His thumb hovers hesitantly over the screen, and it's clear that he's really not looking forward to answering it. "Do you mind?"

"Go ahead," she tells him. "I'll finish turning out."

He disappears into the office as she clips leads to the next two horses, his voice muffled but harsh through the mostly closed door. She wants to stay and eavesdrop, but she was raised better than that and the horses clearly aren't agreeable to standing around and listening in, so she moves onward out into the bright morning sun, trying to ignore the worry that turns in her gut.

She takes her time with the turnout; intentionally lingering by the fields, walking slowly because she's unsure what awaits her when she returns. He's still on the phone when she pokes her head back into the barn, but the tone of his voice has changed. It's quieter now, still holding an undercurrent of anger, but whatever the topic of discussion, it's clearly weighing on him, because when she knocks softly on the door and he motions for her to enter, something looking a lot like exhausted resignation seems to have settled into the hunch of his shoulders and the lines of his face.

His knuckles are white against the desk where he clenches them and leans heavily, as if supporting his own weight has suddenly become a burden, and with several more muttered words, "aye, Aiden, I'll be in touch with the details," he hangs up.

His fingers tighten around his phone, and for a second she thinks he might squeeze until it breaks, that he might possibly throw it, smash it to pieces against the wall, but his grip loosens and he carefully places it face down on the desk. He stares down at it for a moment before scrubbing his hand over his face and covering his eyes, his thumb and fingers pressing hard at his temples.

He sighs and she takes a step closer, torn between the urge to comfort, and the need to shake him and ask what the hell is going on.

"Killian?" she asks, anxiety, fear and worry burning hot; an unwelcome pressure in her chest.

Finally, he looks up, his eyes a terrifying storm of emotions; anger and defeat, sadness and determination. There's an emptiness there too and it scares her a hell of a lot more than the fact that she can't seem to swallow or breathe. "What's wrong?" she manages to choke out after several too-long seconds.

He looks at her. Fails to smile. Looks at the floor. At his phone. Almost growls and suddenly flings the mug filled with pens at the wall. It shatters on impact, loud and startling as chunks of ceramic rain to the floor, pens rolling in haphazard fashion, ticking, clattering, until silence settles again.

"Bloody fucking hell," Killian curses, and it sounds broken, shocked and upset. He looks at her again. Stands there shaking, like he's been through the wringer, and somehow it all happened in the last half hour.

She doesn't know what to say.

He takes a deep breath and reaches for her, his voice small, pained, a shadow of itself when he speaks. "I have to go back to Ireland."

Her arms hang; deadweight at her sides.

She doesn't reach for him.

She doesn't know what to say.

She doesn't know what to do.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry? ;)


	20. Chapter 20

Emma stands there frozen. Her stomach sits somewhere around her knees, but her heart, her heart beats furiously, threatening to pound right out of her chest, possibly explode or implode; she doesn't know which.

All she knows it that it _hurts_ and she wishes it would sink along with her stomach, keep dropping until it's buried deep in the cold cement foundation of the barn floor beneath her feet.

It's one of those bizarre moments where time distorts; stretching and warping, and she knows she's still looking at Killian – she can't look away – but she doesn't know for how long or if she manages to breathe at all as the moments slip by. The second hand on the clock crawls, jolting along, each tick and tock progressively fainter than the last as her pulse pounds louder in her ears.

And then Killian is reaching for her, his hand settling against her shoulder through the fabric of her sweater, and the second he makes contact, everything seems to speed up again. His touch is warm and comforting and it makes her heart _ache_ so she shrugs it off, recoils and steps away, trying to ignore just how hurt he looks by her rejection.

Ignoring it isn't hard when she's filled to the brim with emotion, swirling thoughts and feelings like smoke that she can't seem to grasp and give form. There's too much going on in her head and she can't possibly process it all at once. Pushing down the confusion and pain and fear and sadness, she latches onto the anger, clings to it, wraps herself up in it like a shield, and uses it to focus her thoughts and her words.

Killian steps toward her again, reaching out, but she shifts backwards out of his reach and snaps. "Don't touch me," she growls. "Just... fucking explain."

He looks dumbstruck; startled by the ferocity of her words, standing there silently with his lips parted around syllables that he can't seem to get out.

And she's sitting on a knife's edge here, losing the war with patience as he seems to slowly process her request, looking back and forth between her and his phone before finally speaking.

"That was my lawyer," he breathes out on a sigh as his gaze breaks from hers and he drops into the desk chair. "Apparently my father owned property; something barely legal and off the books. A house and several acres. I'd no idea it even existed." He pauses and eyes the lamp on the desk as if he'd also like to fling it against the wall. He doesn't. "I'd ask Liam if he knew about it, but that's bloody well impossible now for obvious reasons."

Rising to his feet again, clearly restless, Killian runs his hand through his hair, and for a moment Emma worries that he's going to approach her again, but he just turns and stares at the mess on the floor before pacing the distance from the desk to the wall, over and over again.

"So apparently the house has just been sitting there abandoned and decrepit all these years until some property development corporation took an interest in the land and had their lawyers do some digging. That digging now means that I, being my bleeding drunk of a father's only remaining next of kin, now own it, along with sixteen years worth of unpaid property taxes." He seems to laugh at that, but it's pained and mostly filled with disgust. "Callaghan – that's Aiden – tells me that the developer is willing to cover those for a discounted price on the lot, but that the offer only stands until the end of the business week."

He quiets then, but continues doing his best to wear a hole in the floor. His restless pacing is getting to her and she wants to yell at him, tell him to stand still, because she's already feeling sick enough with her stomach twisted up in knots; she doesn't need him going back and forth and back and forth like a freaking metronome. It's not what she's frustrated by though. Not really. So instead she channels her irritation into her next question; her voice coming out harsh; not yelling, but not quiet either.

"And you can't just have him fax you the paperwork? Sign it and be done with it? It's the fucking 21st century, Killian. Do you really have to get on a plane and fly all the way to another continent?"

He breathes out in exasperation and turns to face her again, his lips drawn tight in a grimace of a sneer. "The bloody bastards won't give Abigail access to the house. And even if they would; it should be me. It _has_ to be me." He drags his fingers through his hair, his fist clenching, pulling too hard on the strands. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. You've never lost anything, have you? You have a family – a good one. They're still alive. I have barely-there memories of my dying mother, a father who couldn't pull himself off the bottle long enough to be sure there was food on the table for his sons... and Liam..." his voice breaks on his brother's name and his fists tighten at his sides, his voice deeper; dark and angry. "How could you possibly understand?"

And it's that moment where this can fall one of two ways; back into compassion and civility, or forward into unchecked malice.

She's not proud of it, not at all, and some part of her knows that she's being childish and hurtful and unfair, but she stomps it down hard in favour of lashing out, because she's upset and scared and practically shaking with uncertainty and adrenaline and barely suppressed tears, and giving rein to the anger is so much easier than dealing with everything else that she's feeling.

She's a veritable volcano of emotion and something's got to go.

"You're right. I don't _fucking_ understand. I don't understand why you have to go, and I don't understand why you've obviously been lying to me this whole time. You said you wouldn't leave! That you wouldn't let me down. You told me that you loved me. _Do you even fucking care?_" She spits the words like acid, venom, knowing they'll bite and burn, beat him down and cut to the quick.

And when he deflates almost instantly, she's knows she's hit her mark.

It only makes her feel worse, but fuck it, what's a bit more hell when you feel like the fire has already consumed you? Burnt out your insides leaving nothing but a hollow shell of ash.

"Bloody hell, love," he whispers, despair on his face as his eyes shine with unshed tears and he sucks in a shaky breath. "That's not fair. You _know_ that's not true."

She wipes at her eyes and strikes again. "Do I? What happened to _'I'll do whatever it takes to convince you, love'_?" she mocks. "Is _this_ you convincing me?"

"Emma," he pleads, defeated, exhausted.

But she doesn't want to do this anymore. She doesn't want to hear it and she can't be here with him when she really starts to cry; when the anger wanes and all of the other feelings flood back in.

So she does what she does best.

She runs.

She turns without looking at him and leaves without saying another word, grabbing a bridle on her way out the door.

Breaking into a run, she doesn't look back. Not even when he calls her name.

"Emma! Bloody hell, love, just wait!"

She's half way across the driveway and nearing the closest field, but she doesn't look back.

Hopping the fence, she stalks toward the nearest horse only to have it spook and shy away from her. And fuck, she can't blame the poor gelding; she doesn't even want to be near herself right now. Not when she feels like she's falling apart, cracking at the seams and barely holding it together.

She takes a second to slow her breathing as she walks further into the field, needing some more distance. It takes a minute, but she manages to put on enough of a facade that she can successfully approach another horse without it fleeing.

The big black gelding, Berlioz, looks at her with a mixture of concern and caution, but allows her to bridle him. She mounts from the ground, using the gelding's mane and her own emotionally fuelled adrenaline to swing into place on the horse's back, and then she's urging him into a canter. A number of the other horses in the vicinity regard them with confusion, but she doesn't slow the gelding until they reach the gate on the far side of the field.

Once out of the enclosure, with the gate latched securely behind her, she presses the gelding forward again, asking him to gallop, to run, as far and as fast as he can.

She needs to get away. Just for a while. She needs to clear her head of everything but the immediate, and as she pushes Berlioz harder, the cool September wind whipping her hair and stinging her face, she almost accomplishes it.

_Almost._

The horse can't run forever though, and eventually Emma's legs grow tired, her thighs burning and her lungs aching. And it's only when she slows the gelding to a walk in large field of flowering alfalfa, that she realises the reason she can't seem to breathe, is because she's crying, sobbing really, some awful combination of hyperventilating and hiccupping.

Dismounting; sliding to the ground, seems like a great idea until her knees buckle and she's left sitting in the grassy field, a mess of tears and aching limbs, salt and lactic acid and nowhere near enough oxygen.

She doesn't know how long she cries, how long she wallows in fading adrenaline and sadness and regret. All she knows is that when she finally manages to catch her breath and dry her eyes, she's incredibly thankful that Berlioz is still standing there, nibbling on clover. The gelding steps closer, nickers, and puffs warm grass-sweetened breath against the tightness of her tearstained cheeks. It's almost enough to have her sobbing again, and she shakily gets to her feet so that she can properly wrap her arms around the horse's neck in a hug that she desperately needs.

Feeling weak and exhausted, she can't manage to mount from the ground and is forced to drag her feet until she finds a fallen log with enough height to help her back onto the horse.

From there they move at a comfortable walk with no destination in mind. She does her best to focus on her surroundings, attempting to recall the scientific names of a variety of flora in the area, but no matter how often she pushes the image away, buries it in trivial wilderness knowledge, she can't seem to get the look on Killian's face out of her head.

She spends a while trying to cling to her earlier anger; wanting to be mad at him for leaving, especially now, this week, when she cannot follow. She wants to be mad at him for saying that she couldn't possibly understand, and for not explaining himself further, but the harder she tries to hold onto her anger, the faster it fades, slipping like tightly clutched sand though the spaces between her fingers until she's left empty handed and heavy hearted, with nothing but the realization that she's made a terrible mistake.

Halting the gelding again, pulling him up abruptly, she dismounts and walks the horse over to a small gathering of trees. The crisp September breeze should be comforting; it smells like hayfields and honeycrisp, but as she sinks to the ground with the rough bark of an apple tree at her back, Berlioz trying to reach the not quite ripe fruit on the highest branches, she feels anything but comforted, anything but content.

And now that she's distanced herself from things, now that panic and overwhelming emotion, fight or flight, and foolish kneejerk reactions have subsided, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that her anger was misplaced.

She's not mad at Killian, not really. None of this is his fault.

No, she's mad at his father for up and dying all those years ago, for abandoning Killian and his brother, for being a neglectful drunk and a useless waste of space. And god, she doesn't even know the man, has never so much as seen a photograph, and dead or not, she still wishes she could punch him in the face, because it's bad enough that he destroyed a large part of Killian's childhood, but what's worse is that even now, the man continues to uproot his son's life from beyond the grave.

Emma has no idea what sixteen years worth of unpaid property taxes amount to in Ireland, but she figures it's got to be something ridiculous. Killian probably won't even be getting that much money out of this deal. Not that he seems to care about that anyway. No, all he seems to care about is going though the contents of the house; of what remains of his father's belongings, and when he said that she couldn't possibly understand, he wasn't wrong, but he also wasn't entirely right.

She might not be able to understand exactly what he's feeling, what his motivations are here. She doesn't know what it's like to lose parents or a brother; she's never had a sibling to bond with in that way, but she can at least try to sympathize.

She _should_ have tried.

She should have bit back her pride, reined in her emotions, and asked him to explain; to help her understand. But she didn't. And even now, as she takes the times to think about it, to try to step into his shoes, she thinks she's already beginning to figure it out; when you've lost that much, the tiniest object, something that might seem insignificant to her, could mean the world to him, or Abigail, or Colin.

And as she sits there, picking at the grass between her boots, scuffing her heel against a bulging tree root, that's when it hits her; this week is the anniversary of Liam's death.

The realization pummels her like hard ground rushing up to meet you when you fall, and it knocks the air from her lungs momentarily, leaving her choking and gasping for breath, her eyes wet again as her face crumples and her heart breaks for him.

She is a piece of shit.

The absolute worst.

Because how could she have forgotten?

She didn't even stop to think about how hard this must be for him; having to return to Ireland to put his dead family's affairs in order. And fuck, timing is almost as big of a bitch as she is because she wants nothing more than to drop everything and go with him, to be by his side through this. But with her parents on vacation an entire country and several time zones away, she just... can't.

She has a business to run and animals to care for, and as much as she'd like to dump it all on Belle and Ruby, ask them to do her an unconscionable favour; she knows that's not a possibility either. They aren't kids anymore; they both have lives and careers and nowhere near enough free time to take on her responsibilities at a moment's notice.

None of it is even remotely fair. And yeah, she supposes with a humourless laugh, that's life.

And because she clearly doesn't feel like enough of an asshole already, her brain chooses that moment to offer up another revelation:

She's sitting out here in the middle of a fucking field, miles from home, and she left Killian to deal with everything alone. Not just the mucking of stalls and the running of her family's business, but she left him to process everything that just happened; the shitty news of inherited debt, his impending return to Ireland, their fight...

Fuck. She wants to scream or cry or punch the tree; cause herself some measure of pain, because what's even worse than all of that is how she accused him of lying about his feelings for her, accused him of not caring and leaving and letting her down, and she feels sick with it because god, right now when he probably really needs her, she's the one who left. She's the one who let him down. She's the one who is currently sitting uselessly in a field after having a temper tantrum like an entitled child.

And it's a crushing weight on her chest; the knowledge that she really doesn't deserve him.

She wants him though.

Maybe even needs him.

So why the hell is she still out here?

She needs to get back on the horse, ride back to the barn, and apologise to him because she'll be damned if she leaves things like this.

Her renewed determination makes mounting nearly effortless, but as much as she'd like to gallop headlong back to the barn, she's already run the poor horse into the ground and has no desire to push her already shitty luck and risk injuring him in her haste to return.

Besides, she really could use the time to figure out exactly what she plans to say when she gets there because something a little more in depth than "I'm sorry I'm such an asshole," is probably in order.

The ride back takes a while when she refuses to push the gelding past an easy jog, and she's self-aware enough to recognise the pace as more reluctance and nerves on her part than anything to do with caution or the well-being of the horse.

She's not sure what time it is when she finally returns the gelding to the field, but she figures it must be well after lunch because the gnawing in her stomach is due to more than just apprehension.

The airport, dropping her parents off, making faces over a sticky cinnamon bun; it all seems like lifetimes ago and it's unreal to think that so much has changed since the easy domesticity of early morning.

And she's not sure what she expected upon her return. Certainly nothing out of a romantic comedy; no running into each other's arms to the tune of a dramatic musical score, no spinning embraces or earth shattering kisses. But she expected something – something more that this; the quietude of the ranch, unnatural vacancy, her home as hushed as the absence of wind in the too-still greyness of the sky.

It's the calm before the storm, and as she stands in the middle of the driveway and looks up at the bleak cloud cover – leaden, oppressive, depressive – she scoffs and wants to scream at the heavens, at mother nature, at some incorporeal entity. She wants to scream that the storm's already come in the tempest of her emotions, in the strike of her anger, in the thunder of hoof beats against hard earth as she fled. It's come in the flood of her tears and the gasp of her breath. It's come and it's gone in the desperate desolation of realizing that she's fucked up. And she doesn't need the reality of a late September thunderstorm looming on the horizon to add to the utter despair of the moment; the weight resting on her shoulders and the regret-drenched saturation of her bones.

Because she doesn't have to walk into the barn or the house or the apartment to know that wherever Killian is, it's obviously not here – no matter how firm she'd held in her unwavering belief that he would be.

And she thinks that says a lot about her and him and their relationship thus far.

He's always been the rock, the anchor; holding fast as she's drifted in a sea of fear and indecision, skirting around the edges of words she's too afraid to say. He's carried the bulk of this relationship, nursed it along, tended to it lovingly, and for the most part she's (occasionally reluctantly) allowed herself to be pulled along for the ride.

And now that he's not here, not an immediate and steadying presence at her side, she's left feeling like she's about to be swept away in the current.

It's unsettling to say the least (and really drives home the shittiness of what it feels like when someone takes off on you), but it's a glaring reminder that she's got her own two feet to stand upon and that maybe she should consider doing so.

She's taken Killian for granted for too long, relied on him to do all the heavy lifting; it's time she start pulling her weight.

But first she has to find him.

So it's with steely determination that she wanders toward the barn, hoping to find some clue as to where he's gone.

His Jeep is still parked next to her bug, so she's fairly certain he hasn't gone far.

But then niggling doubt worms its way into her head, presenting her with the thought that maybe he took a cab to the airport, and it's enough that she's changing direction and running toward the apartment.

She bounds straight up the stairs, nearly crashing into the wall, and is forced to reach out and steady the picture that he only recently had re-framed before lunging for the drawer where she knows he keeps his passport and wallet.

Wrenching it open, she discovers them sitting there innocently, one on top of the other, next to his keys, duct tape, and a handful of pens. Closing her eyes, she takes a shaky breath and waits for the panic to subside.

From there she starts to wonder more logically if he's gone off to take care of the afternoon's trail rides, but a look out at the fields and a quick headcount determine that no horses are missing, and when she finally does wander into the barn, a glance at the schedule on the computer confirms that he's rebooked the trail rides for another day.

His phone sits on the desk in the same place he left it hours ago, and with calling him to determine his whereabouts obviously not an option, she resumes her search.

The house is empty as well with the exception of the dogs, and with no real appetite, Emma slaps peanut butter and banana between two slices of bread in an attempt to quiet her protesting stomach, and resigns herself to waiting.

He appears to have wandered off on foot, and with no clue as to which direction he went, she's not about to march off aimlessly in search of him. She doesn't want to risk missing him should she be gone when he returns.

And it's not exactly some grand revelation that she's terrible at sitting around and waiting, but after twenty or so minutes spent rocking on the porch swing with only the increasingly thick air and her guilt for company, she decides that she needs some sort of distraction.

After switching the porch light on (a beacon in the gloomy afternoon, a signal that she's returned), she calls the dogs out into the mist. They follow her to the barn, which of course, despite everything, Killian has left more or less spotless.

In a desperate bid to find something with which to occupy her mind, she decides to reorganize the feed room; pulling heavy bins and crates away from the walls so that she can sweep away spilled grain and cobwebs. She replaces the fading labels, washes the scoops and buckets, and even goes so far as to re-write and colour-code the entire feeding schedule on the whiteboard. It's a show of organization so unlike her and so much like her mother, that for the briefest of moments Emma actually contemplates calling her mother up and pouring everything she's feeling into the phone.

She doesn't though, because she doesn't for a second doubt that her mother would turn around and hop back on the next flight home, and Emma doesn't want that; doesn't need any more guilt on her plate. Her parents have been looking forward to this trip for far too long and she's not about to ruin it for them.

Adding air to the wheelbarrow tires doesn't take long, and when she's straightened everything in the barn that can possibly be straightened, she looks at her phone to discover that it's nearing four o'clock.

It's early to bring the horses in, but with the sky having grown incrementally darker over the course of the afternoon, and her slow acceptance that Killian clearly isn't in any great hurry to return, she decides that she may as well get started on it before the heavens open up and release what the weather app on her phone is colourfully terming _'torrential fury'_.

With the horses in and fed, five o'clock rolls around looking a lot like twilight as storm clouds thicken and edge in ominously, the downpour seemingly waiting for some unknown sign to begin.

She gives it until the first few rumbles of thunder sound in the distance, and then she grows worried, not wanting Killian to be caught alone and unaware when the storm hits.

Wracking her brain for some possibility as to where he might be, cataloguing and dismissing a number of locations within walking distance, she's suddenly stuck by the memory of a sunny day back in early July; avoidance in the form of a bareback ride off the beaten path and an impromptu swim in cool, algae-tinged waters.

It's a long shot and she has no idea why – she can't offer a logical argument or conclusive proof – but somehow she just _knows_ that's where she'll find him.

She sends the dogs up into the apartment before quickly selecting a horse from the barn. On the off chance that she's wrong about Killian's location, she doesn't want to waste time making the trip on foot.

Slipping into her rain coat, she grabs Killian's as well and knots it around her waist before mounting and making her way toward the mostly overgrown trail behind the house. The grass is freshly trampled in places; a sure sign that she's correct in her assumption, and she feels pretty dumb for not considering such a possibility earlier.

It all seems fitting somehow though, like coming full circle, and she can't help but appreciate the differences and the similarities as the sturdy grey mare picks her way over fallen logs and through snarled brush.

It had been sunny that day, hot and humid, whereas now it's damp in a different sense; rain looming, chilled moisture hanging heavy in the air, the canopied forest dark and gloomy. That day she'd been running from him, away from uncertainty, fuelled by embarrassment and fear. Now she heads toward him, toward uncertainty, driven past the fear by guilt and a desperate need to _fix_ this.

When she finally breaks though the last stretch of trees to stop facing the pond, she breathes out in relief so profound that it's nearly dizzying.

Killian sits on the bank, several feet from the water's edge, his arms wrapped around his knees, his back to her, hunched, and for a moment she's rendered clueless as to how to proceed.

Speaking softly, not wanting to startle him, she echoes his teasing words from that day with a lightness she doesn't feel. "Careful," she whispers as she dismounts, "a girl might start to think you're avoiding her."

His back tenses further, his posture hardening as some half-sigh, half-scoff blows past his lips. He doesn't turn to face her though, just stares out over the pond as raindrops slowly begin to fall, ripples breaking the mirror-like surface of the water, shattering any illusion she still held that he was going to make this easy for her.

And in some twisted way, she realises, that still, even now, when he's playing detached, cold and distant and heartbreakingly aloof, he's still managing to give her exactly what she needs; that one final push.

It's her turn to make the big speech, the grand gesture; to grow the fuck up and show him that she's in this, that she wants it as much as he does.

So securing the horse to the tree, she unknots his jacket from around her waist and moves closer to drape the waterproof fabric over his shoulders. He still doesn't move, doesn't speak, and the ground is wet as she settles down in the muddy grass next to him. She can see his face now, study his profile, but in the dimming light it's hard to tell if the moisture she finds there is the result of the rain or of the veritable shit storm he's been through today; less than favourable news compounded by her callous and unthinking words, her running when she should have stayed.

He stares stubbornly ahead and she wants little more than to reach out and comfort him. She doesn't though, doesn't touch him, doesn't reach for his hand; she isn't sure it'd be welcome. There's a void here; a gaping chasm of her own making, and she knows that touch alone won't be enough to bridge this gap.

Mirroring his position, she wraps her arms around her own legs, looking out over the pond; green, rich verdant, seeming that much more vibrant in the dismal mist of the hyetal evening air.

"I'm sorry," she starts, because she needs to start somewhere, and it seems as logical a place as any. "I overreacted and was stupid and childish and such an unbelievable asshole, and I know this doesn't excuse my behaviour or anything I said – _there is no excuse for that_ – but when I'm scared it's like my brain shuts off; it's all fight or flight and somehow dealing with anger, being mad, it's so much easier than the thought, no matter how illogical, that you might leave me. And yeah, I know it's not permanent; you're coming back, and I should have taken a step back, maybe a deep breath or ten, and realized how this was affecting you instead of just thinking about myself – that's something I seriously need to work on – and just, fuck, Killian, I'm so sorry."

And this isn't exactly how she thought she'd be saying these words – not that she's put much thought into the matter – always too scared, too much of a coward to consider the specifics. But here they are, on the muddied bank of a pond in the drizzling rain, tears streaming down her face because he still hasn't looked at her, hasn't said anything, and she's terrified that she's fucked this up, that he's finally realized that she's not worth the effort, and suddenly not saying the words isn't an option.

She needs to say them and he needs to know, because even if she's gone and screwed this six ways from Sunday, broken it beyond repair, they're burning hot, waging war in her chest, and she needs to get them out.

Tilting her head back, she takes a deep breath and listens to the rumble of thunder, the beating of her heart, raindrops falling a little faster now.

And it's not a matter of gathering courage, not really. No, it's mostly just a matter of gathering her thoughts and saying this right because somehow she's found herself with a preface; a preliminary statement, and it's not so much a procrastination as it is a necessary explanation.

"I'm not saying this because I think it's what you want to hear, or as some desperate last ditch attempt at an apology, and I'm not saying it because you deserve to hear it," she breathes out, watching his fingers flex over the denim of his jeans; the only real sign that he's actually listening to her words, "even though you really do."

His shoulders soften slightly, a slow breath bringing his arm into contact with hers as he closes his eyes and seems to deflate.

"I'm saying this now," she continues, "not because I owe it to you – I don't believe this is something that can be owed – but because it's time; it's time for me to stop running, to stop being afraid. I've known how I feel about you for a while now, so me saying this? I'm doing it as much for myself as I am for you."

He breathes again, opening his eyes, still looking out over the water as he leans almost imperceptibly closer. His next breath is a sigh; weary, accepting, and she echoes it.

"I'm going to say it either way, Killian. But I'd really prefer if you were actually looking at me when I do."

There's a moment where she thinks he'll refuse her, remain with his gaze fixed steadfastly upon the rippling pond and force her to speak the words to the side of his skull, but then he's turning with a shuddering breath to meet her eyes.

"Fucking hell, love," he whispers, his voice raw, breath catching on the words.

And when he holds out his hand, reaching for her, initiating contact, she nearly sobs with relief.

His skin is warm despite the chill of the rain as she grasps at his fingers and shifts closer, on her knees in the mud so that she can sit level with him and cup his cheek.

With damp skin and stubble against her palm, she doesn't wait a second longer.

"I love you," she whispers the exact second earthshaking thunder cracks and rumbles, drowning her out as the heavens open in a drenching deluge.

Throwing her head back, incredulous, she looks at the sky, blinded by rain as she laughs and cries and curses, "fuck - _really?_" shaking with the ridiculousness of it because "is that the sign you were waiting for?"

Because of_-fucking-_course it would happen this way, and Killian probably thinks she's gone mad, screaming at the sky, but then there's pressure at her waist which she recognises immediately as his touch, and she looks back down to find him shaking his head, amused exasperation in the pull of his lips.

Another glance heavenward, a muttered "work with me here," and she's releasing his hand to place her palm over his heart.

"I love you," she offers again, shouting over the rain, feeling giddy, a little bit ridiculous, but he's smiling at her, his hair plastered to his forehead, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes, his scruff, and all she can do is smile back and repeat herself, the words coming easier than she ever imagined they would. "I love you."

And then he's kissing her, and she's not naive enough to think that all is forgiven, that they don't still have a lot to talk about before he leaves, and she intends to apologize again and again and again, as many times as he'll let her, but for now the heat of his mouth and the solid strength of his arms around her are enough.

She's pretty sure she's crying again (if she ever stopped), and it's not until the almost forgotten horse whinnies, and another clap of thunder rattles the earth beneath their knees, that she figures they should probably head back and seek shelter.

Pulling away, she struggles to her feet on the slick earth, half soaked; her jeans saturated. She's relatively dry beneath the protection of her coat, but she certainly can't say the same for Killian because the navy blue of his slicker rests uselessly on the ground. Picking it up with one hand, she offers her other to help him to his feet. "We should get back; get dry," she suggests. "Have you eaten at all since breakfast?"

The rain falls harder, though she's not sure how such a thing is possible, and he shakes his head, getting to his feet, wiping muddy palms on equally muddy jeans. "Not had much appetite, I'm afraid."

She pushes him toward the horse. "I'll make you something hot when we get back."

"Not sure I want food poisoning on top of everything else today, love." His face is tired, his tone serious, and she almost misses the subtle, teasing twinkle in his eye.

Groaning, but immeasurably glad for the normalcy of him poking fun at her cooking skills (or lack thereof), she holds out his rain coat. "Put this on." He slips his arms into the sleeves, but doesn't do it up. He's always been so much warmer than her.

"Grilled cheese and soup," she offers when they find a fallen log and use it to mount; Killian settling behind her on the mare's back. "I can safely manage that."

His arms wrap around her waist, his fingers linking over her stomach, pressing the zipper of the jacket into cotton, into flesh. He nods, his chin scraping against her Gore-Tex covered shoulder, catching in her hair where it escapes her hood. She squeezes the horse forward.

It's nearly dark when they return and he rubs the horse down with a thick towel while she throws enough hay that they won't have to venture out to the stables again until morning. The wind picks up, the barn boards creaking with each wet, thundering gust, and before switching off the lights for the night, she retrieves his phone from the desk in the office and presses it into his hand. She wraps his hand, phone and all, in the cradle of her fingers and looks up at him with a shaky smile; a show of support that she desperately wishes she'd offered much, much earlier.

Rain coats and boots get left down in the garage. Killian abandons his jeans and socks there as well, tossing them in the direction of the washing machine and then trudging up the stairs before her in nothing but damp boxers and a rain-rumpled Henley.

Normally she'd find the sight arousing; take pleasure in the way his boxers cling to the strength of his ass and thighs, but it's obvious that his adrenaline is fading, obvious in the way he practically hauls himself up the steps with his hand on the railing, and though she'd like to join him in the shower, it's really not the time or the place, so she nudges him in that direction alone.

"Go warm up, change. I'll get the food started."

He steps into her space for a moment, lingering, as if he's not quite ready to leave her side, as if he's worried she might take off again, and she presses her palm over his heart, her lips to the corner of his mouth. "I'll be right here." She turns her head fractionally, catching his lower lip between hers; barely a kiss. "I love you," seals the promise.

He goes, if somewhat reluctantly, and when she hears the water turn on, she makes quick work of shedding her own clothes, changing into something soft and warm and dry (a pair fleece-lined leggings and one of Killian's flannels) before hastening down the stairs with a load of laundry. It's mostly his; things he wears frequently, things he'll likely want for the trip. The trip she can't make with him.

The thought still sucks, still makes her want to scream, but she pushes that down in favour of heading back up the stairs and building a fire in the wood stove. The dogs watch her with a certain level of confusion, clearly picking up on the tension, and she blows out a deep breath as she grabs an extra bowl out of the cupboard and pours kibble for both of them.

Killian's laptop sits tucked away on the small desk in the corner, covered in a thin layer of dust from over a week of disuse, and she takes a second to plug it in and boot it up before heading back to the kitchen pantry in search of soup.

Tomato prepared with cream and fresh basil (she's learned a thing or two from her mom over the years) sits warming on the stove while she pulls out the large frying pan and gets to work on the grilled cheese, trying to time it so that it's finishing up just as Killian gets out of the shower.

He steps out of the bathroom less than a minute after she's removed it from the heat. He's got a towel wrapped low on his hips, an enticing sight as he heads for the dresser, but she averts her eyes, focusing on stirring the hot chocolate while he dresses because she knows how easily things can escalate between them; how quickly a touch or even just a look can ignite passion.

And it's not that she doesn't want him, it's that he's obviously tired; physically and mentally, and as much as fucking away the weight of the day might seem like the answer... she knows it's not.

He's dressed in sweatpants and darker Henley now, sitting at the foot of the bed to pull on his socks. Avast whines and noses at his knee as if she knows what's up, knows that he's leaving, and he wraps the pup in a crushing embrace before standing and finally noticing his laptop open on the desk.

He looks at the device and then at her, a silent question in his eyes. She smiles, tries to anyway, and pulls the necessary dishes from the cupboards. "Bring it over to the couch. I'll be over with the food in a minute."

"Emma," he protests, "we don't have to do this right now."

She gives him a look that says otherwise and pours the hot chocolate into mugs. "Yes we do. I've already spent most of the day trying and failing to pretend it isn't happening..." There's an elephant in the room and she'd rather just call it by name. "You're going back to Ireland. There's no use avoiding it." She sighs. "Let's just get your flight booked, let Abi and your lawyer know the details, and then I'd really like to spend the rest of the night in your arms. Okay?"

Killian looks at her with something she can't quite decipher (perhaps equal parts awe and exasperation), scrubs his hand over his face, and picks up the laptop. "Bloody hell," he groans. "All right, fine." He hunkers down on the couch and then looks back over his shoulder at her. "You have to know, love; I'm not happy about this either."

She carries their plates over and sits them on the coffee table before turning to run a hand through his hair. He leans forward, his head against her stomach as he breathes slowly; measured inhales and exhales. "I know." She soothes her fingers over the back on his neck to the tension in his shoulders. "But you'll be fine. We both will. It's only a week, right?"

He nods against her stomach before leaning back and allowing her to return to the kitchen for the hot chocolate. "Less than, if I've anything to say about it." His fingers tap over the keyboard, presumably searching flights. "Ideally I'll be able to wrap things up and go through the house in a few days – be back here with you before the weekend."

She hands him his favourite mug (an ugly green thing sporting a confused looking bear in a tacky Christmas sweater, with the pun "bearly awake" printed in blocky letters beside it) and sinks down next to him on the couch. Shooing his fingers away from the keyboard, she shoves the plate into his grasp. "Eat." She takes a bite of her own grilled cheese and lifts the laptop to rest on her knees. "When do you want to fly out tomorrow?"

He swallows a mouthful of still steaming soup and cringes. "I'm not sure wanting has much of anything to do with it, love."

She just huffs and punches in the date and locations, hitting enter to see what's available. The pickings are slim at such short notice, the prices more than a little ridiculous, and she twists the computer towards him so that he can see the results.

"Let's see the details of the third from the top?" She opens the link for the flight departing tomorrow at 1:40pm and he hums thoughtfully as his finger nudges in next to hers on the touchpad, scrolling down. "That one should work. The bloody jet lag is going to be hell if I can't manage to sleep on the plane, but it'll put me in Dublin on Tuesday morning at a decent hour to meet up with Aiden."

Returning the laptop to the table, she picks up her plate to finish her meal before it gets cold. "Does Abi know about all of this?" she asks around a mouthful of tomato dipped bread and cheese.

Killian polishes off the last of his food, switches out the empty plate and bowl for his hot chocolate, and nods. "I talked to her this morning after you..."

He trails off and she chokes her food down as guilt constricts, twisting tightly around her lungs. Reaching for his hand where it clenches against his sweatpants, she links her fingers with his and sighs. "After I ran," she finishes for him, "earning myself the title of world's shittiest girlfriend." Lifting their joined hands, she presses a kiss to his knuckles. "I'm sorry," she sighs.

He echoes it, something they seem to be doing a lot of lately, and sets his mug back down on the coaster, reaching for her plate and sitting it aside as well before he turns to face her. "I know," he breathes out, "and I wish you would have just stayed; talked to me and allowed me to explain, but the important part is that you came back." He smiles then, almost too brightly for the depth of the conversation. "I'm no expert, but I'm fairly certain, Emma, that the world's shittiest girlfriend wouldn't have returned and wandered out in the pissing rain to come find me and tell me that she loves me."

She laughs at that and wonders for the billionth time in the last few months just how she got so lucky.

He nods at the empty plate and stands. "Thank you for supper, love. I'm going to get this flight booked and a couple emails sent out so we can attempt to enjoy what remains of the evening." He gathers the laptop and bends to place a kiss atop her head, pausing to contemplate her seriously for a moment.

The lights flicker, rain still pounding against the windows as thunder cracks and lightning flashes bright in the dark beyond. A look up at the overhead light and she quickly shoos him toward the desk. "Go; finish that before we lose power."

While he gets the details of his departure and flight ironed out, she switches the laundry over to the dryer and showers quickly, still chilled from the rain and wanting to wash away the stress of the day. She emerges to find him tidying up the kitchen, and no less than ten seconds after he switches on the dishwasher, the power goes out; flickering feebly a few times before failing completely.

The apartment is dark save for the low light of the fire burning in the wood stove, and she dresses quickly, towel drying her hair while he adds a few logs to the dwindling flames and refuels the lantern. The dogs sleep soundly on the large rug that extends well past the foot of the bed; Avast curled up with her head on Duke's back, both of them seemingly oblivious to the storm that rages outside.

It's all unbearably cosy and suddenly she wants nothing more than to hug him. Before she really acknowledges it, her legs are carrying her across the room and into his arms with more force than she intended. He stumbles backwards, falling to the couch with a grunt as she lands on top of him, laughing.

"While I certainly enjoy having you on top of me, love, I'm afraid I'm not up for a wrestling match or anything of more nefarious intent at the moment," he teases, shifting them both slightly so that she's tucked between his body and the back of the couch. "Perhaps a rain check?"

She rolls her eyes and snuggles into him, tucking her head beneath his chin. "I really wish you didn't have to go," she mumbles against his chest, "or at least that I could go with you. I was really looking forward to a week of this."

"Of body slamming me into the couch?"

She pinches his side and digs her chin into his sternum. "You're an idiot."

He chuckles and holds her tighter. "Aye, but you love me anyway..." It's almost a question – as if he still can't quite believe it.

Lifting her head so that she can meet his eyes, her smile is rather rudely interrupted by a yawn. "I love you," she confirms, stretching up for a kiss. It's little more than the sleepy brushing of lips and the sharing of chocolatey breath, but she sighs contently into it, the day's events and the fact that they've been awake since 2am, running on less than four hours of sleep, finally catching up to her.

She thinks that moving to the bed might be the smarter option, but she's fairly comfortable here for the moment, cocooned by Killian's heat and the warmth of the fire, the couch solid but soft at her back. The rain continues outside, quieter now, a soothing soundtrack to the night, and Killian pulls a blanket down from the back of the couch, yawning as he covers them in thick merino.

Killian's whispered "and I love you" mixes with the crackle of the fire, and despite her best efforts to remain awake, to cling to every moment between now and tomorrow afternoon, she slowly drifts off; losing first seconds, and then minutes as she startles herself awake only to drop back into slumber a breath or two later. It's only when Killian falls asleep beside her, his chest rising and falling in even cadence beneath her cheek, that she stops fighting and gives into exhaustion.

* * *

Bright light and touch pull her from slumber. She opens her eyes to the realisation that the power is back on, and to the warmth of Killian's hand beneath her shirt, cupping her bare breast, his lips on her neck, hot and urgent as hardness presses into her hip.

Blinking her eyes open, she cards her hand though his hair, arching into his touch with a rousing stretch that almost pushes him from the couch. There's not really enough room here for this to play out lying down, so she tugs on his hair and lifts his head. "Sit up," she requests, pushing at his chest as she nips at his lips; a tease of a kiss.

It's a slightly awkward tangle of limbs and blanket, but within seconds he's sitting on the couch and she's straddling his lap, rocking against the cloth covered ridge of his erection, all tongue and teeth and desperate kisses as his fingers fly over the buttons of the stolen flannel she wears, exposing her breasts but leaving the warmth of the shirt covering her arms and back.

He kisses her like a man possessed, with single-minded awareness, gasping breaths and wandering hands as he pulls at her nipple and dips his fingers beneath the waistband of her leggings, cupping her ass to pull her tightly against his restless hips.

She doesn't know if it's ever been this frantic, this intense between them, but she figures with their fight and heightened emotions, his imminent departure and the broken dam of her finally admitting her love for him – this flood; release, was bound to happen.

She wonders if maybe she should tell him to slow down, to take his time, that there's no rush, but he's clearly determined, almost a little bit panicked; a man on a mission, and if this is what he needs, she's more than happy to give it to him.

Reaching for his shirt, she breaks the kiss to haul it over his head and toss it aside. He tries to kiss her again, but she presses against his chest and shakes her head, pinning him to the back of the couch with a hand at his bicep as she lowers her lips to his neck, his jaw, the firm strength of his shoulder and escarpment of his collarbone. She marks him with her teeth and her tongue, wanting to send a physical reminder of her, _of them_, with him when he leaves; suction bruising his flesh as she drags her nails over the hair on his abdomen to the elastic of his sweatpants, teasing until he growls; a low vibration beneath her lips.

"Emma." His fingers bite into the flesh of her ass and she looks up to meet his darkened gaze. "Get rid of these," he grunts, yanking at the barrier of her clothing.

She scrambles to her feet and peels them both from her legs, watching while he lifts his hips just enough to push the remainder of his clothes to his knees. Holding out his hands, he reaches for her. "C'mere, love."

Grasping his fingers, she settles over his lap, not waiting, not teasing, just joining them slowly without preamble in the slick slide of flesh. Stilling, she cups his cheeks and presses their foreheads together. "I love you," she whispers against his lips to the tune of rattling wind and still gently falling rain.

It starts slower, she thinks, than he originally intended; the gentle rocking of hips, her weight above him controlling the force of his rough and not entirely coordinated thrusts as he holds her just a little bit too tight and breathes moisture into her skin; gravelly words of adoration that set tears prickling behind her eyes. She cradles the back of his neck, meets his lips, and allows him to move faster. Harder.

With his hands at her hips and his forehead against her shoulder, he stills in silent pleasure, his mouth open, teeth against her skin as he comes apart beneath her, inside her, around her, shaking with the force of it as she turns her head and presses her lips to his hairline.

And she doesn't even care that she didn't join him, because right now, as they sag against each other, breathing heavily and leaning back into the couch as one, she thinks that maybe there's more than one type of release.

And maybe that's enough for her, but it certainly doesn't seem to be enough for him, because he's frowning now, stubborn and self deprecating as he slips his hand between their bodies to where they're still joined to thumb at her clit.

"Killian, it's fine," she protests, lifting his chin so that he meets her gaze.

He shakes his head and growls. "It most certainly is not." He lifts her slightly, slipping from between her legs as he nods at the couch. "Lay back, love."

His release drips down to coat her thighs and she protests again. "But the couch..."

"Is leather," he points out with a raised eyebrow, pressing at her hips insistently, "and can be wiped down later."

Conceding defeat, she stretches out on her back, surprised when he ducks his head and trails kisses down her stomach to settle between her thighs. Seemingly undisturbed by the mess of his own making, he whispers words of love and encouragement against her flesh and quickly sets about rendering her speechless.

Afterwards, when they've cleaned up and redressed, she looks at her phone and at the fact that her alarm is set to go off in just under an hour, and decides that going back to sleep seems pretty pointless. Killian wipes down the couch and grudgingly begins packing while she re-sets the time on the appliances and gets the coffee started.

A heavy sense of unease lingers in the apartment, thick and restless and clinging to their every action. It's not discomfort between them exactly – with everything out in the open she feels reasonably confident in the state of their relationship – it's more their seemingly mutual reluctance to accept the fact that in less than nine hours he'll be on a plane and on his way to Ireland.

His phone rings while he's in the bathroom washing up and trimming his beard, and when a glance at the screen confirms that it's Abi, she calls through the door, "it's Abi – want me to get it?"

"If you would, love," he shouts back, his voice muffled, likely by his toothbrush and a mouthful of mint. "I'll be out shortly."

Swiping to accept the call, she does her best to sound reasonably cheery. "Hey Abi. Killian's just finishing up in the bathroom. Should be out in a minute or two."

"Quite all right, Emma." Abi pauses. "Perfect, actually; I wanted to talk to ya alone for a moment anyhow."

Emma moves back toward the kitchen to stand next to the percolating coffee, drumming her fingers against the counter top. "Anything specific?" she asks, not really sure that she wants to know the answer.

Abi laughs. "Oh don't sound so bloody serious; I'm not after yer firstborn or anything so scandalous. I just wanted to see how you're holding up. Killian told me yesterday that this is all coming at a bit of an inopportune time. Such a shame that you're unable to come with him; we'd have loved to have you."

Emma sighs. "Yeah, my parents are away on vacation and I'm in charge of things here. Otherwise I'd be getting on that plane with him this afternoon."

"You'll be okay to handle the duties alone?" Abi asks. "Not too much for one person is it?"

Emma shakes her head before realising that the woman can't actually see her. "No. Besides, it'll be good to keep busy. Makes the time pass faster, right?" After a chuckle of agreement from Abi, Emma continues on, lowering her voice slightly as she wanders to the far side of the apartment. "I'm not saying that it won't suck, but I'll be fine. I'm mostly just worried about Killian. And you of course," she adds hastily. "I know this can't be an easy time of year for either of you."

"Aye," Abi admits, "tis not, but don't fret; I've already told Killian that he'll be staying with us. No ifs, ands, or buts. I've no desire for a repeat of last year. None of us need that. And you're more than welcome to call or Skype anytime to check in. Though with you in the picture, I find it unlikely that he'll fall that far again." There's a pause and when Abi speaks, Emma can hear the smile in her voice. "In case the idiot hasn't made it known; he loves you something fierce."

Emma laughs at that, smiling as she looks out the window at the still dark farm; the first hints of dawn nowhere close to colouring the rain clouds that linger on the horizon. "I know, and I love him too." She's still surprised how easy it is to admit.

"Oh?" Abi exclaims. "Well this certainly is a new development!"

Biting her lip as her smile spreads, she switches the phone to her other hand and heads back into the kitchen to pour the coffee. "Not new, exactly. It just...took me a while to say it out loud."

"Oh, I know how that goes," Abi jokes. "I'm glad though. I imagine Killian is too." A pause. "You did tell him, yes? I'm not the first? Because if I am, I mean, I'm flattered, but honestly, the man needs to know!"

Groaning, Emma rolls her eyes. "He knows!" She's still laughing when Killian emerges from the bathroom.

"You're giggling," he observes with a smirk, his eyes bright as he steps up next to her at the counter, smelling of mint and spice. "Has that harpy sister-in-law of mine been filling your head with nonsense?"

Emma holds the phone away from her ear as Abi shouts, "watch who you're calling a harpy, young man!"

Shaking her head, Emma leans in to kiss his cheek. Aftershave tingles against her lips. "Only if you consider discussion of my love for you to be nonsense." He looks a little bit shocked that she's openly admitted it to another human being, and she just hands him the phone and his coffee before grinning and turning away to dig through the pantry for something requiring little in the way of effort for breakfast.

She ends up pulling bagels from the freezer, and after Killian forwards the details of his flight to Abigail and finishes on the phone, he insists on frying up eggs, onion, and tomato to go with them. She's glad to see that both of their appetites have returned, and though she's under no illusion that the rest of the week will be easy, she's in a far better place regarding it all than she was yesterday.

The day turns out grey but dry, the last of the rain clouds moving east on a chilly breeze. They turn the horses out, laughing as a group of the younger geldings buck and frolic, lively in the crisp morning air, and after making quick work of the stalls and rearranging a few of the afternoon's trail rides, Killian decides that they have enough time for a short trail ride of their own before they have to leave for the airport.

The trees are just beginning to change; hints of red and gold and rich amber popping up a few leaves at a time, still easy to miss if you aren't really looking. She expects that it'll be another few weeks before they really start to change, and Killian reminds her that they ought to go camping again once autumn arrives in all its glory. She couldn't agree more.

The ground is still saturated in places from yesterday's rainfall, but they manage to find a dry enough stretch for a decent gallop, racing from tree line to tree line in an act reminiscent of their first ride together. Killian doesn't hold back this time though, and despite being mounted upon the slower horse, he beats her to the trees with strides to spare.

It's a bit of a downer, putting the horses away and packing his suitcase into the Jeep after the exhilaration of a lovely ride, but she does so with a straight back, repeatedly reminding herself that it'll be a week tops and then he'll be home; it's not the end of the world.

He insists on driving to the airport, saying that he doesn't want her to have to drive both ways, and she relents even though it means that she's stuck trying not to fidget in the passenger seat. But instead of dwelling on his departure and his absence as she expects they might, they make plans for his return; discussing their camping trip and apple picking, debating pumpkin carving patterns and possible Halloween themed games for a bunch of David's lesson kids. It helps a lot, but she still notices as every mile marker brings them closer and closer to the airport.

When they arrive, they park so that she can go in with him, walking hand in hand with him through the crowded airport, getting him checked in and his luggage taken care of until they reach a point where she can no longer follow.

With a pretty convincing smile, he turns toward her and sits his carry-on on the floor by his feet. "Well, love, I guess this is it."

She frowns and looks at his shoes until he hooks a finger under her chin and lifts her gaze. "Friday, Emma. Four days and I'll be standing right here once more."

Fisting her fingers in the lapels of his jacket, she tugs him a step closer. "You'd better be." His hands settle on her hips, in the same place they'd been this morning while they made love on the couch. "You've got everything you need?" she asks. "Books to read? Something to help you sleep? A blanket for the plane?"

"Everything but you and the kitchen sink, darling," he teases. (She may have gone a little overboard helping him pack.) "I've more clothes in my suitcase than I'd need for two weeks, let alone four days."

Punching him lightly in the arm, she can't help but laugh. "Okay, okay. I'll see you on Friday then?"

His hand winds into her hair, urging her closer until there's hardly an inch between them. "Count on it." And then he's kissing her; an unspoken promise of his return and a silent declaration of his love, his lips warm and yielding against her own as she rises up on her toes and presses herself to his chest, leather in her grasp as she clutches his jacket and tries to convince herself that it's time to let him go.

When they finally part on a shuddering breath, he smiles and presses his lips to her forehead. "I've a layover in London; I'll message you then and again as soon as I land in Dublin - even though you'll likely be sleeping."

She scoffs and combs a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to set order to chaos. "I'll be awake." Another kiss and she turns him toward security. "You should go. Have a safe flight."

He bends to gather his carry-on, gives her one last closed-lipped smile, and turns without a word. He doesn't say goodbye or drag it out, and she's thankful for that.

She watches until he passes through security, catches sight of his dark hair and a wave through the crowd, and then turns to weave her way back through the airport. Her phone buzzes in her pocket as she walks, the vibration tickling her thigh, but in an effort not to run into some poor soul or harried traveller, she leaves it there until she's safely seated in the Jeep once more.

The second she pulls the device from her pocket, a smile stretches across her face.

The message is from Killian and it reads a simple, **– I love you. – **

Unlocking her phone, knowing that she'll be able to handle whatever the week has to offer, she taps out, **– I love you too. –**

* * *

A/N: Thank you, as always, to lifeinahole27 and nothandlingit for their beta skills, and another to nowforruin for being a fantastic sounding board. You ladies are absolutely wonderful.

I know a lot of you were expecting a green card marriage, or something to do with Killian's visa, but I've had this planned for months and decided to take a much less predictable path. Just know that I have my reasons. :)

Just one chapter and the epilogue to go!


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Last official chapter, my dears! The epilogue shall be on its way shortly. Likely within the next couple days. I'll save all my blabbering and thank yous for that, so go ahead and read on!

* * *

By the time Emma turns back down the driveway at the ranch, the lingering grey clouds have parted to reveal blue sky and bright sun. She grabs a late lunch and brings it out to the barn office with her so that she can focus on planning out everything she needs to accomplish over the next several days. The dogs join her, Duke lounging on the floor while Avast scrambles around the barn, chasing and pouncing on a rock most likely dug up from her mother's garden.

But even with the dogs for company, it's too quiet, so Emma switches on the radio just high enough to fill the void while she works. She puts in an order for grain and supplements at the feed store in town, arranging to pick it up tomorrow morning before noon, and then she gets to work listening to the messages that have accumulated on the answering machine.

With all the necessary calls returned and several new bookings marked down in the calendar, she looks at the clock and figures it's about time to get some of the horses in and tacked up for the first of the afternoon's two trail rides.

The first goes smoothly, but the couple she leads is more interested in making doe eyes at each other and taking selfies than listening to anything she has to say about the horses or the history of the surrounding ranch land. It's relatively boring and she finds herself wishing for Killian's company, knowing that if he were here, she'd be able to communicate her distaste for the technology obsessed couple with little more than a look.

The next trail ride more than makes up for it though. It's just two older ladies this time, guests staying in one of the cabins, but Emma remembers them well from their stay at the ranch back in early July. After all, how she could forget Joan and Linda and their attempts to push her and Killian together?

The women are waiting outside at a picnic table playing a game of cards when Emma arrives at the cabin with the horses in tow.

"Emma!" Joan calls as Emma approaches with their mounts. "So good to see you again, dear! Your mom checked us in a few days ago, told us all about the trip she had planned; I do hope they're having a fabulous time!"

Emma dismounts and is instantly in a better mood. "I imagine they are. Mom had quite the itinerary planned out. I think today's schedule had a horseback ride on the beach in the morning and snorkelling in the afternoon, followed by dinner and a show."

"Busy folks," Linda comments with a shake of her head. "Sounds lovely, but I hope she's made time for a little relaxation as well."

Emma laughs. "That'll be up to dad to enforce; mom's not great at stopping and sitting still when there are so many things to do and places to explore."

"Well, all we've done these last few days is sit around and relax," Joan tells her, rising from her seat at the table to pull Emma into a quick hug.

"And eat," Linda adds, looping an arm briefly around Emma's shoulders as well. "That Granny's take-out is dangerous if you're not young and working hard."

"I eat more of it than I probably should," Emma confesses as she moves to tighten the cinches on the other two horses before giving the women the go ahead to mount.

"Speaking of young and hard working," Joan says with a wide grin, "where's tall, dark, and Irish today?"

"We were looking forward to the eye candy," Linda chips in.

"How are things going between you two, anyhow?"

"Saddle up that bronc and take him for a spin yet?"

Emma can't fight the shit-eating grin that rises to her lips.

"She has!" Linda deduces excitedly, almost proudly, as Emma shakes her head in amusement and remounts her chestnut mare.

"Oh goodie! How was it?" Joan asks. "Details, girl, details!"

Emma takes a moment to try to put it into words as they nudge the horses forward toward the trail. "It was… it was a long time coming," she decides on.

The look Linda gives her is pointed and mischievous, accompanied by a raised eyebrow. "_Oh_, was it now?"

It takes Emma less than half a second to recognize the unintentional double entendre present in her words. Snorting, she closes her eyes briefly in humour. "Not what I meant and you know it. Buuuut…"

Joan claps gleefully with a bit of a screech and Emma can't help but wonder if this is what Ruby is going to be like in 30 or so years. The thought reminds Emma that she really should call her friends later and let them know about the whole '_Killian's in Ireland'_ situation, but it also brings her back to Joan's question about Killian's whereabouts.

"Killian would have been here today, but he got a call yesterday and had to head back to Ireland to deal with a family matter," Emma admits after a moment, trying to decide just how in depth she's actually going to get here.

"He left you all by your lonesome?" Linda surmises. "That's rough."

Emma nods. "I didn't exactly take it well yesterday, but I understand now; it's not his fault. Just shitty timing and even shittier circumstance. He wasn't overly thrilled about it either. He'll be back by the weekend though."

"Soooo, you two; it's more than just a good roll in the hay, huh?" Joan concludes sagely.

Emma finds herself nodding in confirmation again. "It took a while to get there. It's not exactly what I expected when we started out, but… it's good, _really_ good."

The admission is followed by a beat of quiet understanding, almost seriousness, and Emma can't help but marvel at the unlikely bond she's formed with these ladies despite the substantial age difference. It's not long though, before Joan and Linda are back at it, pestering her for details regarding her sex life while interspersing the hilarity with humorous tales from when they were her age.

It's a welcome reprieve from the reminder of Killian's absence, and Emma finds herself laughing more than she'd have thought possible only hours earlier.

When the trail ride ends, Emma waves her goodbyes to the two boisterous women and agrees to take them out again tomorrow afternoon.

With the radio still playing in the barn, she un-tacks and settles the horses into their stalls before heading out to bring the rest of the herd in. The dogs trot alongside her as she works, and when everyone is fed and content for the evening, Emma glances at her phone, decides she doesn't feel like cooking, and quickly comes to the conclusion that, despite her earlier admission that she eats there far too often, Granny's is indeed in order. If she's lucky, she'll be able to catch Ruby next door before her friend leaves work for the night.

If Granny thinks Emma showing up alone is odd, the woman is wise enough not to say anything and simply sets a plate of grilled cheese and onion rings down in front of her before tilting her head toward the countertop dessert display. "Butter tarts just came out of the oven half an hour ago," she promotes with a knowing smile.

"My only weakness," Emma declares dramatically around a mouthful of onion ring. "May as well give me half a dozen to go."

Ten minutes later, with a take-out box filled with dessert and a cup of hot cocoa in hand, Emma pays the bill and steps out the door, the bell jingling just as her phone rings.

Freeing the device from her pocket to answer it involves a bit of juggling, but she manages just before the call goes to voicemail.

"Hey," Emma greets, "what's up?"

"You in town?" Belle asks. "I just noticed your bug parked on Main Street. Oh wait. Is that- are you?"

"Just stepping out of Granny's?" Emma finishes for her friend, scanning the street and lifting her hot chocolate in an awkward wave when she spots the brunette.

"Hang on," Belle laughs. "I'll come to you!"

With that, the line goes dead and Emma pockets her phone as Belle jogs across the street, agile as ever in the ridiculously high heels she insists on wearing to work.

Belle wraps her in a quick, one-armed hug before stepping back. "What are you doing in town? I would have thought you'd be back at the ranch with Killian, enjoying the privacy."

"Long story," Emma admits with a bit of a scoff. "Come on, let's go see if Ruby's done working yet; I'd rather only tell it once."

Ruby is just handing off a neatly groomed Pomeranian to its owner when they step through the entrance into her shop. Barking sounds loudly from the back, and after scheduling another appointment with the client, Ruby smiles brightly at Emma and Belle and holds up a hand. "Just give me one minute, guys, and then I'm all yours."

The feisty brunette retreats into the back, and after a moment, the barking finally subsides. Seconds later Ruby is leading a massive Great Dane (or rather, the Great Dane is leading Ruby) out while she reaches for the ringing phone. "Ruby's!" she answers cheerfully, even as the dog strains at his leash.

Taking pity on her frazzled friend, Emma hands her hot chocolate and the desserts off to Belle so that she can take hold of the excitable dog.

"Chief," Ruby mouths as she relinquishes the huge black dog into Emma's grasp, followed by "good luck," as she returns her attention to the phone call.

Settling the dog is a challenge, but a handful of treats snagged from the jar on the reception desk seems to do the trick, and thankfully the owners appear just as Ruby finishes up on the phone.

Emma returns to sit next to Belle, and they both try not to snicker childishly as Ruby makes the obviously necessary suggestion of training classes to Chief's owners. When the dog finally hightails it out the door with his owners in tow, Ruby locks it behind them and flips the sign to 'closed'.

Following Ruby into the back, Emma watches her friend contemplate the mess of fur trimmings on the floor and the grooming equipment scattered across the counters. With a shake of her head, Ruby simply runs her hand through her hair and takes a seat on one of the lower grooming tables. "Anita called in sick," she says by way of explanation. "It's been a day."

"Here," Belle offers, holding out the take-out box. "Emma bought butter tarts. I can only assume she means to share."

Ruby doesn't ask for permission, so Emma doesn't bother giving it, just digs into the box after her friends and shakes her head in silent amusement as they all devour the desserts.

"Soooo," Ruby drawls when she finishes eating, wiping her fingers on her fur-covered scrub pants, "where's Killian?"

Emma closes the box and sits it aside on what looks like a relatively clean portion of the countertop. "Right now? Probably somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean."

"WHAT?!"

"Emma!"

And suddenly, both Ruby and Belle are talking at once, a litany of questions pouring forth that Emma would be happy to answer if they'd just shut up long enough to allow it.

"Guuuuys!" Emma finally whines in frustration. "Would you stop asking questions for a minute and let me explain?"

Completely unabashed, Ruby holds out a broom to Emma. "Can you sweep and explain at the same time? I don't want to be here all night."

With a sigh, Emma takes the broom, sorely tempted to beat her friend over the head with it.

When Ruby picks up a broom as well, Emma starts talking.

* * *

It's dark by the time Emma returns to the ranch and she completes night check alone in the unnatural quiet of the barn. She lets the dogs out while she takes a long shower, but even then, she's got time to kill before Killian's first flight lands in London.

Letting the dogs in, she flips on the TV and settles down on the couch with her phone nearby, the notification volume turned way up.

Avast snuggles in next to her amongst the cushions and Duke takes up residence between the couch and the coffee table. An old _NCIS_ episode flashes by on the television, and despite her best efforts to remain otherwise, Emma is sound asleep before the next commercial break.

* * *

She's not sure what exactly wakes her. It could be the god-awful crick in her neck from falling asleep sitting upright on the couch, or it could be the brightness of the screen that now streams nothing but obnoxious rainbow-coloured bars, signaling that the channel is off-air.

Groaning, Emma reaches for the remote and switches the television to another channel before checking her phone as she blinks the sleep from her vision and stretches her neck.

An hour far later than she expected stares up at her along with several missed messages.

At nearly 1am, it's obvious that she's missed Killian's layover in London.

Avast stirs next to her, flopping sideways to drop her head on Emma's knee, and Emma opens the app, feeling incredibly guilty for falling asleep so easily.

**[Mon. 10:48pm] Killian:** Just landed in London, love. Sun's not quite up here. Managed to sleep a bit on the plane but coffee is definitely in order. Going to grab one while I wait. I'll have my phone on for the next hour until I've got to board again.

**[Mon. 11:24pm] Killian:** You must be sleeping. I'm glad. Though admittedly I wish I was there with you. The seats here are lacking in a certain degree of comfort. I've made a friend though; lovely old fellow named Ernest. He's spent much of the last half hour regaling me with tales from his childhood.

**[Mon. 11:31pm] Killian:** I showed him a picture of you. He said, and I quote, "don't let that one get away." I don't intend to. ;)

**[Mon. 11:37pm] Killian:** Did you know that the sum of all the numbers on a roulette wheel is 666? This man is a veritable treasure chest of rather useless yet entirely entertaining facts.

**[Mon. 11:43pm] Killian:** Boarding now, darling. I hope you sleep well. I shall check my phone again when I land, but if you're still asleep, don't fret. I love you.

Emma smiles as she rises from the couch, glad that Killian seems to be in good spirits. His flight is scheduled to land within the next 20 or so minutes, so she taps out a quick message.

**[Tues. 12:49am] Emma:** Hey. Sorry I missed your messages. Ended up passing out on the couch. I'm gonna blame it on Ruby; she made me help with clean up at the shop. I'm awake now though. Let me know when you land. I love you too.

It's tempting to curl up in bed while she waits, but Emma's reasonably sure if she does that, she'll wind up missing yet another round of messages. Instead, she moves into the kitchen to prep the coffee maker, knowing she's going to want it in less than 6 hours from now when she has to wake up again.

Resting her head heavily on her hands, she leans over the counter with her elbows on the granite and stares at her phone in a bit of a daze. A yawn cracks her jaw and she huffs quietly at the disaster that has become her sleep schedule over the last few days.

At least she's not dealing with a 7 hour time change.

Emma looks at the clock: 1:01am. Just after 8am in Dublin. She understands the logic and necessity of time zones, but still, and maybe it's just a matter of exhaustion, at the moment the whole concept seems pretty damned hard to wrap her head around.

Cleaning up the few dishes littering the kitchen counter and sink seems like as good an idea as any while she waits, and when her phone finally rings, she nearly breaks a plate in her haste to dry her hands and answer the call. "Hey there, stranger."

"Hello, love." Killian's voice is warm; she can practically hear the smile in it. "Just waiting for my bag now. Why must everyone possess such monochromatic luggage? I'm starting to think your mother might be onto something with those obnoxiously coloured ribbons she insists upon tying to her belongings."

"Neon yellow ribbon curls or neon yellow luggage; pick your poison," Emma offers, laughing. "How was your flight?"

"Long." He sounds tired now. "I hope Aiden's got a fresh pot of coffee on when I get there." A grunt and clattering sounds in the background. "There we go, luggage acquired. I'm not sure how I feel about neon yellow. Perhaps a cheerful red? Might be the lesser of two evils."

"You could just slap a giant Canadian flag on it," Emma suggests. "That should stand out."

"A thought for the distant future," Killian finally declares. "Once I return home, I've no plans to travel again for a while."

_Home_. The word makes Emma smile. "Good." She traces her finger mindlessly over the dark flecks in the countertop and fights to conceal another yawn. "What time do you meet with Aiden?"

"Assuming I can grab a taxi without much of a wait, I aim to be there around 9am," Killian tells her over background chatter. "Hold on one second, love." His voice is muffled for a moment, but he returns quickly. "Apologies. Decided I couldn't wait for a caffeine fix."

"You're getting as bad as I am," Emma teases. "I half considered putting on a pot ten minutes ago but figured that if I actually wanted to sleep again tonight, that'd be a terrible idea."

She hears Killian presumably blowing on hot coffee as he juggles the phone. "Are you in bed, darling?" Killian asks, and though it's obviously intended as an innocent question, his accent has the tendency to make it sound far less so.

"I'm standing in the kitchen right now. I was afraid if I curled up in bed, I'd fall asleep and miss your call."

"Why don't you get cozied up. I can talk for a few more minutes while I wait for a taxi. Then I'll be out of Wi-Fi range until I get to Abi's later."

"M'kay," she says through a yawn, switching off lights and the TV before calling the dogs over. "Duke and Avast are stealing your side of the bed for the next few nights," Emma says as she drops her sweatpants to the floor. "You'll have to fight them for it when you come home."

"Gladly," Killian chuckles.

"One sec," Emma says, sitting the phone down so that she can pull the sweater over her head and settle beneath the blankets. "There, I'm in bed," she announces.

"You've no idea how bloody jealous I am right now, love." She hears him take a sip of coffee and then his voice grows darker. "What are you wearing, Emma?"

Rolling her eyes, she laughs. "I don't think so, mister. Save that thought for another time."

"Aye," he agrees. "Probably for the best. Taxi just pulled up, love. I'd best be going."

"I'll talk to you later?"

"Count on it. I'll send you a message when I'm back at Abigail's this evening. I imagine she'd like to say hello as well."

Avast snuggles in against Emma's chest while Duke rests his head on her feet, and it's almost,_ almost_, as good as having Killian here with her. She thinks, at least, as she yawns again, that it'll be enough for her to fall asleep quickly.

"I love you," she hums, her eyes already closing.

"I love you, too. Sweetest dreams."

* * *

In the morning, Emma wakes to find that Avast has somehow managed to wiggle her way under the covers. The pup's head rests on the other pillow, and Emma snaps a quick picture to send to Killian before rolling out of bed.

Fifteen short minutes later, she's out in the barn, nursing her second cup of coffee while divvying up the morning grain. There's no immediate response from Killian, but she's not surprised; he's probably still busy with Aiden.

By 10 o'clock, Emma's three quarters of the way through mucking the stalls and is just returning from refilling her coffee mug when she catches sight of Joan and Linda ambling down the driveway.

The ladies come bearing fresh-baked carrot muffins and are an excellent source of company that makes the last hour of barn chores fly by in what feels like minutes.

At shortly after 11, Emma parts ways with the women so that she can head into town to pick up the order from the feed store. Opting to take her father's truck, she piles the dogs into the front seat and makes the drive into town with the windows down, enjoying what she suspects will be the last of a limited number of summer-like days.

With the feed loaded and paid for, Emma winds up grabbing Granny's for lunch.

Taking the dogs to the park to play in the water, she enjoys her sandwich with her bare feet dangling from the dock. The time is spent exchanging a few short messages with Killian, and they decide that an actual video chat will have to wait until later when she's finished with the afternoon's trail rides.

It's 4 o'clock by the time that happens, 11 at night over in Ireland, and Emma can already tell that this time difference is quickly going to become a pain in the ass.

They don't end up talking for long; Abi says a quick hello before heading to bed, and Killian begins yawning not long after that. He tells her that all the paperwork is in order regarding the house, which means that bright and early tomorrow morning he'll be heading out there with Aiden to get the keys and begin the process of sifting through whatever mysteries the old farm house contains.

Emma jokes about Joan and Linda, informs him that the women were disappointed by his absence, and tells him that he'd better be home Friday because the women leave Saturday, and won't, in Linda's words, be too pleased if they don't get a peek at that fine ass before they depart.

Another yawn interrupts Killian's rich laughter, and as much as Emma would prefer to keep talking, the man really should get some sleep. Besides, she needs to bring the horses in and then think about actually eating something other than take-out for dinner.

The process of exchanging goodnights and I love yous and hanging up should be simple, but somehow another 15 minutes pass before Emma finally disconnects the call. She stares glumly at the computer screen for several long seconds and then finally closes the laptop, standing in an attempt to shake herself out of the funk that threatens to descend in the too-quiet apartment.

With the horses in and fed, a quick meal of pasta eaten, and everything taken care of in the office by shortly after 6 o'clock, Emma stands there with the entire evening ahead of her and very little to occupy her mind.

She could go inside, watch TV or read a book, but it's far too nice out for that, so instead she ends up pulling the appaloosa mare that they bought at auction all those months ago from her stall.

After much deliberation, they'd decided to name the mare Nala, befitting her pale golden coat and fearless personality. Emma hasn't had much time to work on breaking the mare to ride over the last couple months, and now seems as good a time as any to make some headway.

The evening is spent working in the round pen, re-familiarizing the mare with voice commands and building trust before saddling and bridling her without issue. Emma leads Nala around and uses her hands to press weight into each stirrup before calling it a day. She doubts there would be any issue if she attempted to mount, but for safety's sake, she'll save that for another time when someone is around to supervise.

After un-tacking the mare and praising her repeatedly, Emma hand walks her out to a patch of grass in the yard and allows her to graze as the sun says its last farewells to the day. A sense of accomplishment and pride overrides her earlier melancholy, and Emma can only hope that in the days to come, Killian finds a similar sense of peace.

* * *

Wednesday drags past in a never-ending of supply of activity, the usual chores combined with a visit from the farrier and coaching David's lesson kids, eating up most of Emma's free time.

It's not ideal, but it helps that Killian is clearly busy as well. The few messages that they manage to exchange are short and replies are far from immediate. She tells herself that it's only two more days, but that doesn't settle the restlessness in her limbs or the ache in her heart when she remembers for the tenth time in as many hours that tomorrow is the anniversary of Liam's death.

One of the girls in the last lesson falls off and winds up with a nasty concussion requiring a trip to the hospital, and it's not until nearly 10 o'clock that Emma is finally able to call it a night and retreat to the apartment.

As a coach she did absolutely nothing to contribute to the mishap. The horse simply spooked at a rabbit as it darted across the driveway. Accidents happen; such is the nature of the sport, but still, she can't help but feel as if the whole ordeal has put a damper on what has already been a trying day.

Flopping back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling, she groans and digs her phone out of her pocket. The screen stares back at her, black as the night sky outside, and she curses shitty battery life while reaching for the charger.

When the phone finally blinks to life, Emma opens the messaging app and taps out an apology.

**[Wed. 9:57pm] Emma:** Hey. Sorry I've been so busy today. I really wanted to talk to you earlier but time got away from me and then Jessica fell off in her lesson and I ended up taking her to the hospital to get her head checked out. She'll be okay; it's just a mild concussion and a nasty scratch.

**[Wed. 9:58pm] Emma:** I miss you. I know it's only been a couple days, but still, I miss you.

**[Wed. 10:01pm] Emma:** I guess it's probably too much to hope that you're awake right now, huh?

_Of course it is_, she chides herself, feeling stupid. _It's 5am in Ireland. He's probably sleeping._

Tossing the phone carelessly onto the closest bedside table, Emma rolls over onto her stomach and reaches for Killian's pillow. Inhaling his scent, she briefly wonders how long it'll be until it fades beyond recognition. Hopefully she can get a couple more quality nights out of it until he returns.

Convincing herself to rise and brush her teeth is a feat she's not sure she's up to, and she's just lounging there, weighing the risks of tooth decay, when her phone rattles loudly, almost skittering its way off the edge of the table to the floor.

"You're awake?" she says in greeting, surprise lacing her words as she struggles and fails to contain a smile.

"Aye. I attempted to go to bed hours ago, but only managed a few hours of interrupted sleep. I'm standing outside on the back porch now. Didn't want to wake Abi or Colin with my restlessness," Killian tells her, sounding drained.

"What time do you head back to the house?" she asks as she peels off her socks and tosses them in the direction of the laundry hamper.

"Around 9," Killian hums, "I think. Abi is going to accompany me this time but she's got to see Colin off to daycare first."

"How'd it go yesterday? Find anything interesting?"

Killian scoffs and Emma can picture him rubbing at his eyes, a tight-lipped frown on his face. "An abundance of dust and empty liquor bottles – neither of which quite qualify as interesting... or even remotely surprising. Most of the house was relatively empty. Cleaned off and loaded the bulk of the furniture and kitchen supplies into a van to be donated to a local charity, and made a number of trips to waste and recycling stations to get rid of the rest. The attic is filled with boxes, but I only made it halfway through those and am convinced that most of them must have belonged to whoever owned the house before my father."

"What was in them?" Emma asks, curious as to how he could so easily determine ownership.

"Some contained woman's clothing that looked as if it could date back to the early 1930s, and a number of others were filled with childhood keepsakes that obviously belonged to a family with girls. I'm having Aiden see if he can track down the previous owners, or at least their extended family; all of this might mean something to someone."

Killian sighs and Emma can only assume that he's wishing his father had been similarly sentimental.

"I don't even know if I'm going to find anything meaningful here, Emma," he admits after a moment, his voice sounding rough and a little bit unsteady. "What if this whole bloody trip was just a waste of time? Nothing more than an ill-timed reminder that my father was a pathetic drunk who clearly didn't give a shit about his sons."

Killian sniffs, sounding torn between anger and anguish, and Emma closes her eyes tightly against threatening tears while silently cursing the universe for preventing her from being there with him.

"It's almost a year since Liam died," he continues, "and it's all I can do not to count down to the very minute it happened. I never should have come here. This has been pointless. I should still be at home with you."

Emma sighs and wipes at her eyes with her free hand. "You know that's not true. Even if you don't find anything worthwhile in that house, you're spending time with Abi and Colin, right? That's got to count for something."

A huff of acknowledgement is the only answer Emma receives, and god, she's never felt quite this helpless before. She's used to comforting with touch, not words. She's used to _him_ being the strong one in this sort of upheaval of a situation. And she doesn't know what's worse, saying nothing, or trying to say something and blundering her way through some awkward speech about hope.

She needs to say something though, so she opts for the potentially pathetic hope speech. At the very least maybe he'll get a chuckle out of it.

"At the risk of sounding far too much like my mother, or possibly just sounding ridiculous because we both know this isn't exactly my strong suit, I'm gonna tell you to keep your chin up until you finish looking through those boxes. You never know what you might find and I refuse to believe that you flew across most of Canada and an entire ocean just to come back home empty handed, okay?"

Killian snorts. "Yes, dear."

Rolling her eyes, Emma laughs. "Good. Now, unfortunately I can't hug you because you're thousands of miles away, but I _can_ try to distract you until Abi and Colin wake up."

"Love," Killian protests predictably, "you don't have to. You should be sleeping."

"So should you," Emma counters firmly, "but since that's clearly not happening, let me be here for you in the only I can right now, okay? Are you sitting somewhere comfortable?"

There's rustling as Killian seems to settle. "Relatively; I found and old lawn chair."

"All right then, I've got a funny story to tell you," Emma informs him as she stretches out with his pillow clutched to her chest. "You'll never guess what Leroy did to the poor farrier today."

* * *

The majority of Thursday somehow manages to pass with unexpected haste, almost as if the hands on the clock share Emma's desire for the day to just be over with already.

Killian's mood is understandably subdued when she talks to him that afternoon, but he reassures her that despite the circumstances, he's doing all right. Hours of digging through boxes finally proved fruitful, yielding an old family photo album, Liam's childhood baseball glove, and a much smaller box filled with a number of items that admittedly had him and Abigail in tears for the better part of the afternoon.

Emma just barely resists the urge to say _'I told you so.'_

He tells her that after packing away the last of the house and handing the keys over to Aiden, they had picked Colin up from daycare, enjoyed a quiet dinner, and then watched the sun set at the cemetery overlooking Liam's grave.

Emma shares the relative monotony that has been her day thus far, and after that, they talk for a while longer, sorting out the details of Killian's flight home. He insists that he can take a cab from the airport, but Emma just calls him stupid and lets him know in no uncertain terms that she'll be there at shortly after 6pm to pick him up.

The conversation eventually wraps up with Killian yawning, obviously exhausted, and it's just in time for Emma to head outside and greet Ruby in the driveway.

"You said something about needing a spotter while breaking a horse?" Ruby asks as she climbs out of her little red Camaro to stand silhouetted in the early evening sun.

Emma nods. "You know; all that safety first shit? Just in case I fall on my head and need someone to call 911 for me."

Ruby laughs and links arms with Emma, dragging her toward the barn. "Should I have brought Victor and his doctor-ly skills along? Planning on landing on your ass?"

"Not planning on it, no. I've been working with Nala a lot the last few days and I think she's ready to be ridden. I just know that mom and dad and Killian would find a way to kill me again if I got myself killed because I was too stupid or too impatient to have someone around to supervise."

They walk arm in arm into the barn with the dogs following closely behind, and Emma ends up brushing the mare while Ruby leans against the wall in the sun slanting through the open doors.

"I just don't get it," Ruby says, starting in on what Emma suspects will be a long rant about work. "Some people apparently think it's okay to just not brush their long haired dog. Like ever. I mean what do they think is going to happen when they come in 6 weeks overdue for a grooming appointment with a dog that looks like an unloved 70s shag carpet? Do they expect me to just wiggle my nose and poof! Presto! Use my mind to will the mats away? Boom? Flawless coat again? You should have seen him, Emma, it took me two hours to shave this poor dog."

Having been on the listening end of one of Ruby's pet-care related rants many times before, Emma knows that her friend doesn't actually expect an answer to any of the many questions she asks. It's enough just to stand there and listen to the seemingly never-ending diatribe.

Sometimes Emma feels bad for thinking it, but she's pretty sure the mouthy brunette could carry on a conversation with a brick wall if need be.

It's nice to have something else to think about though, something to keep her mind off the 24 or so hours that stand between her and seeing Killian again, so Emma actually puts half an effort into nodding and furthering the conversation when appropriate.

It's not until Emma leads the mare out of the barn and into the round pen, though, that Ruby finally quiets.

Emma spends several minutes free-lunging the mare in each direction before slowly and successfully tacking her up. Grabbing the helmet from the fence, Emma puts it on and signals for Ruby to enter the pen.

"You ready?" Ruby asks, reaching out to pet the mare's neck as Emma double checks the tightness of the cinch.

"As I'll ever be," Emma answers, pressing her weight into the left stirrup with the palms of her hand. The mare appears entirely unfazed as usual so Emma nods. "Hold her for me? I'm just going to lean across her back to start."

Shoving her foot into the stirrup, Emma talks soothingly to the horse as she slowly pulls her weight up into the saddle to lean on her stomach across the mare's back. Nala stands perfectly still, attentive, her ears flickering back, but otherwise calm as can be. Emma shifts her weight several times, and when the mare snorts in apparent boredom, Emma chuckles and carefully lifts up to swing her other leg over the back of the saddle.

Seated tall on the horse, Emma strokes the mare's golden neck and grins down at Ruby. "Walk her forward?"

Ruby leads them at a walk around the pen several times in each direction before Emma gathers up the reins and nods. "I think we're good on our own now, thanks."

The next several minutes are spent at a walk, turning and halting and moving forward again as the mare gets used to responding to her leg, easily following her voice commands.

"Are you sure she isn't already broke to ride?" Ruby finally asks from her spot in the center of the pen. "She looks like I could set off my car alarm and she'd probably just sleep right through it."

"I don't know," Emma says with a shrug, "there was nothing in her history at the auction that suggested otherwise. Maybe she's just one of the good ones?"

"Try trotting her?" Ruby suggests.

Nala's ears flick forward at the word and Emma cautiously nudges the mare forward into the faster gait.

Twice around in each direction with a smooth halt at the end of it, and Emma's left sitting there and grinning like a fool. "Do I know how to pick em, or what?"

"Your dad's going to be impressed," Ruby comments, stepping forward to feed the mare a mint. "You'll have her out galloping across the fields in no time. Hell, from what I've seen here, you could probably give it a try within the week."

Feeling light and undeniably happy, Emma dismounts and loosens the girth, praising the mare as she and Ruby make their way back into the barn, discussing plans for a trail ride the following weekend.

Ruby sticks around to help with night check, and afterwards, they end up watching bad reality TV in the apartment until the hour grows late and Ruby decides that she'd better head out.

All seems to be quiet on the messaging front regarding Killian, and Emma can only hope that means he's actually getting a good night's rest before flying out. His flight is scheduled to leave at 3:30am her time and she very much doubts that she'll manage to catch him in the morning, so before crawling into bed for the night, she taps out a quick message.

**[Thurs. 10:42pm] Emma:** Have a safe flight and give Abi and Colin hugs for me. I love you and I imagine that I'll spend most of tomorrow impatiently waiting for 6 o'clock to roll around. Any idea what you want for dinner?

* * *

Her prediction of impatience is spot on, and when she's already finished with the morning chores at 10am, she wants to kick herself for working so fast. In an effort to kill some time, she ends up working with Nala again, and later, after completing the scheduled trail rides, she rushes back to the barn to bring the horses in and feed so that she can leave for the airport around 4 o'clock.

There'd been a message from Killian in the morning requesting that they stop at Granny's on the way home for dinner, and Emma's already got their usual order called in to be ready for pick up between 7:45 and 8. She'd rather be in and out quickly than risk running into a friend in town and being delayed. Call her selfish, but she wants Killian all to herself this evening.

A quick shower and a change of clothes find her set to hit the road at moments after 4 and she spends most of the drive reminding herself to obey the speed limit because she sure as hell doesn't need a ticket, and getting there too early would just mean more waiting around.

Despite her best efforts to drive slowly, traffic is surprisingly good for a Friday evening and she still ends up arriving at the airport early. Killian's flight has already landed, but she knows from experience that making it through customs will take a while.

Driving around seems like a waste of gas and Killian had insisted that she not pay for parking, so she stops at the nearest coffee shop instead, figuring that Killian won't say no to caffeine after spending most of the day on a plane.

Pulling out her phone, she shoots him a quick text.

**[Fri. 6:05pm] Emma:** I'm here early, going to stop at Tim Hortons while I wait. Any requests?

She parks in the lot at the Tim Hortons on the outskirts of the airport and watches one plane land and another take off while she waits for his reply. It finally comes several minutes later whiles she's drumming her fingers against the wheel in impatience.

**[Fri. 6:13pm] Killian:** God, yes. Something disgustingly large and sweet, please. I should be through customs in another 20 or so. See you shortly, darling.

**[Fri. 6:14pm] Killian:** What car should I look for?

**[Fri. 6:16pm] Emma:** You'll know it when you see it. I'm in the drive thru for coffee now. Any chance you can jump ahead in line? I'm tired of waiting.

**[Fri. 6:18pm] Killian:** Patience, love. I'll be there before you know it.

With two large café mochas in the cup holders, Emma returns to the airport to wait in almost the exact same spot they did months ago when picking up Abi and Colin. Looking at the time, she shifts the bug into park and pulls out her phone. There's a missed message from her mom detailing the day's tropical adventures, and Emma replies to it while keeping a close eye on the automatic doors.

Her mother answers almost immediately, telling her that she's taking advantage of the lobby's Wi-Fi to upload some pictures to _the _Facebook. Emma promises that she'll take a look at them later, and when her mother asks what she and Killian are up to, Emma realizes that at some point (not now, tomorrow maybe), she'll actually have to tell her mom about everything that happened this week. For now she just stretches the truth slightly and messages back a quick "gotta run, about to eat dinner" as she finally catches sight of Killian dragging his luggage through the exit.

Not really giving a shit about the _'no parking'_ signs, she kills the ignition and climbs out of the car to wave him over. He looks tired, a little worse for wear; his scruff is longer than she's used to seeing it and his hair is sticking up in all directions, but he smiles brightly when he sees her.

As soon as he reaches her side, he releases his hold on his luggage and wraps her in a massive hug, nearly knocking her over. The car at her back steadies them and she closes her eyes in satisfaction at the feel of having him in her arms again. With his face pressed against her neck, hidden behind the curtain of her hair, she feels him inhale deeply and then sag heavily against her. "Bloody hell, Emma, it's good to see you."

A ridiculous laugh bubbles up in her chest and she squeezes him tightly, not quite ready to let him go. The driver of the van behind her honks his horn though, and it's enough to have Killian pulling back out of the embrace. Running her hand down his arm to squeeze his hand, Emma nods toward the passenger seat and opens the trunk. "Go, sit. Chocolaty caffeinated goodness awaits. I'll get your bags."

When Killian nods off holding her hand less than half an hour into the drive, Emma doesn't take offense; she's just happy to have him next to her again. The sun sets as she drives and it's impossible to stop herself from glancing over at him every so often. The golden light sets his beard aflame, shadows contouring the curves of his cheeks and the soft lines around his eyes, and Emma briefly wonders if it would be considered creepy to stay up half the night watching him sleep.

He doesn't wake until she comes to a stop in front of Granny's. At nearly 8 o'clock, twilight has settled over the town. Brushing an unruly lock of hair from his forehead, Emma meets him halfway across the console for a sleepy kiss.

"The order's all set, I just have to run in and grab it," she tells him as she scratches her nails against the scruff covering his jaw. "You can wait here if you want."

Killian shakes his head though. "I'll come with, love. I've been seated on my arse most of the day; I need to stretch."

The trip into Granny's is thankfully brief, and other than a short exchange with one of Mary Margaret's coworkers, no one approaches them with the intent of starting up a conversation.

The short nap and coffee seem to have helped, because Killian remains awake for the drive home, and after they eat, devouring the food as if they've been starved, he insists on joining her out in the barn for night check.

It's good to see him back in his element, tossing hay and whispering quietly to one of his favourite geldings as he pauses to scratches the horse's neck. Avast and Duke follow him around, practically glued to his heels, and Emma can't help but laugh when the pup almost trips him for the third time in less than a minute.

When they finally convince the dogs to go outside and get out of their way, Emma sweeps, playfully swatting at Killian with the broom when he blocks her path, and as she passes Nala's stall, the mare nudges at her shoulder with a gentle nicker. "I'll ride you tomorrow," Emma promises the appaloosa. "It's too dark out now."

Killian lifts an eyebrow and crosses the aisle to stand next to her. "You've ridden her?"

Emma nods and moves willingly toward him when he hooks a finger through a belt loop on her jeans and tugs. "Just a walk and a bit of trot in the round pen the last two days, but she's been amazing."

Looping an arm around her waist, Killian pulls her in for another hug. "_You're_ amazing," he whispers against her forehead. "You know that, right?"

With a goofy grin, Emma leans back to catch his eyes. "Yeah, I know." She pokes at his chest and goes in for a quick kiss. "But feel free to remind me as often as you want."

One kiss turns into two and before she knows it, they've lost almost 15 minutes just standing there in each other's arms. The horses munch happily on their hay, and outside, crickets chirp in a tempered chorus, the cooler weather of approaching autumn decreasing the tempo of the insect's song.

Eventually Killian yawns though, and it's at that point that Emma turns him around and pushes him toward the door of the barn. "You should go to bed."

"I should shower," he says through another yawn.

"Go," she tells him with another gentle push. "I'll finish in here and be up soon." And it's a testament to how tired he must be that he doesn't even argue.

She waits until he's crossed the driveway and disappeared into the garage to pick up the broom and finish sweeping. After that, filling water buckets doesn't take long, and she double checks the latches on the stall doors before switching off the lights and calling out "g'night, ponies!" to the herd.

The dogs come running when she calls, and in an effort not to trip, fall down the stairs, or break a leg, she sends them scrambling up in front of her. She enters the apartment to find Killian standing there, freshly showered and dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers. He appears to be considering pyjama pants. That or he's just staring into space while facing the open drawer of the dresser. Whatever the case, she'd prefer that he remain in his current state of undress.

"Into bed with you," she declares, kicking off her boots by the door.

Turning slowly to give her a sleepy smile, he flips the covers back and flops rather inelegantly to the mattress. He pats the spot next to him. "C'mon, love, don't make a man sleep alone."

Giggling at the absurdity of the statement – as if she'd actually make him sleep alone – she makes a quick trip to the bathroom to brush her teeth before shedding all but her underwear and tank top. Switching off the lights, she shoos the dogs from the bed and then crawls in next to him. He's still damp from his shower, spicy-scented and smells like heaven.

"Tomorrow I'll show you what I found at my father's," he promises, his voice already sleep-slurred. Tugging her closer, he tangles their legs together and wraps her up in the heat of his solid embrace. A whiskered kiss falls against the curve of her jaw. "I'm glad I'm home."

She couldn't agree more.

* * *

Saturday morning finds them slipping easily back into their usual routine; steady banter sounding in the barn as they muck stalls across from each other. They work slowly, easily distracted by each other whenever their paths cross while dumping wheelbarrows, and it's almost noon by the time they hang up the pitchforks and finally sweep out the barn.

Killian is appalled by her eating habits in his absence ("you've eaten at Granny's how many times already this week?") and it doesn't take much convincing before she relents and allows him to whip up something healthy for lunch.

Grilled veggies and salmon come off the barbeque to be heaped next to a spinach and strawberry salad, and as much as Emma might like to make a face at the very idea of a salad consisting primarily of spinach, she trusts Killian's culinary skills enough to know that if she complained, she'd likely just end up eating her words the minute she took a bite.

The sun is high and warm in the sky, and with a small fire burning, it's still more than warm enough to eat outside despite the northwest wind blowing down from the mountains.

Just as they're about to sit down to eat, Killian stands and jogs back to the apartment. When he returns a minute later, it's with a faded old photo album and a wooden box. "You've probably been dying of curiosity, so I figured we could look through these while we eat."

Taking a bite of salmon speared with spinach, she sits her plate on the bench beside her and reaches for the photo album. "Please tell me there are embarrassing childhood photos in here?"

It turns out there are. Her favourite being of a chubby 3 year old Killian dressed in nothing but underwear; underwear in their rightful place around his hips, but also as a hat on his head, his unruly hair and elfish ears sticking out through the leg holes of the bright blue undergarment.

She gets a good laugh out of that at his expense, insisting that it be shared with her parents, and a further look through the album showcases several pictures of both his mother and father. Emma finds herself tearing up while studying an absolutely beautiful photograph of the vibrant redhead, and she notes that though Killian clearly gets his blue eyes from his mother, he otherwise bears striking resemblance to his father.

The box contains even more clues as to Killian's childhood. There's a colourful collection of sea glass that he'd thought long lost, and she holds his hand, a pale-green marble of sea glass clasped between their palms as he shares the memory of the day he picked it up while walking the beach with an 11 year old Liam and his dying mother.

There are a couple pieces of childhood art; an awkward looking horse drawn by a young Killian and a rather impressive ship depicted in stunning detail by a much older Liam. There's a faded blue t-shirt sporting both Killian and Liam's child-sized handprints in bright red paint, and finally, a Polaroid of a 6 year old Liam holding a newborn Killian.

When they've finished looking at it and Killian reverently packs up the items, Emma says a silent thank you to the universe, glad that for all his father's shortcomings, the man wasn't entirely heartless.

The early afternoon involves a fair amount of tongue-in-cheek conversation while attempting to send Joan and Linda on their way in a timely manner, and after that, it's trail rides and chores running right up until the dinner hour. Leftover salmon and peppers from lunch get mixed with pasta for a quick supper, and afterwards, Emma insists on trying Nala out on a leisurely sunset trail ride.

They stick to the fenced-in portions of the ranch, Killian leading the way through each gated section of field, and Emma is beyond impressed by the relatively untrained mare's willingness to follow along without issue.

All goes well until they come across a neighbouring field of cattle that are mostly hidden by the tall grass. One of the grazing Herefords lifts its head and moos loudly, and Nala, apparently never having come across a cow before, jumps nearly 10 feet sideways. Emma lands on her ass in the soft grass, no worse for the wear, laughing as the mare snorts suspiciously at what she probably thinks are a herd of really strange looking horses.

From her relatively comfortable landing spot on the ground, Emma watches as the curious appaloosa mare slowly inches toward the fence. It takes a moment, but the mare touches noses with one of the more interested cattle, snorts in acceptance, and then lowers her head, as if nothing happened, to casually take a bite of the tall grass.

Killian simply looks from her, to the horse, and back again before breaking out in laughter.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she accuses, doing her best to look disgruntled as she pulls a clump of burs from the end of her ponytail and removes her helmet.

"Aye, love, I certainly am," he admits as he dismounts and steps towards her. "You all right?"

Emma nods and he offers his hand. "Nowhere else I'd rather be," she tells him as she grabs his hand, hooks his ankle with her boot, and pulls him down, unsuspecting, to lie in the grass next to her. "How about you?" she asks cheekily when he rolls onto his side to face her.

With a smile on his face, he shifts closer, intently focused on her lips. When he's close enough that she can feel the warmth of his breath – can practically taste him – he looks up and meets her eyes. "By your side is where I'll always long to be, Emma. You should know that by now. But if you really want me to say it, I'll gladly admit that there truly is nowhere else I'd rather be." And then, because occasionally he still prides himself on being an insufferable pain in her ass, he points out, "though, we are about to miss the sunset."

"You know what?" Emma groans, rolling her eyes as she grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss. "I think I'm okay with the view right here."


	22. The Epilogue

There are a number of things in life that have the potential to lose their novelty with unparalleled haste. There's that song you listened to obsessively for a week straight that you can no longer stand. Or that toy you absolutely _had_ to have as a kid; the one that ended up under the bed in the company of dust bunnies as soon as something better came along. Hell, maybe you even tried eating chocolate cake for dessert every night when you were finally an _adult _and there was no one around to tell you that doing so is in fact a terrible idea…

It's funny, how quickly humans as a species can develop this overwhelming sense of ennui. How something that was once thrilling, can suddenly become almost unbearably mundane. How we consume and obsess over and then almost immediately discard so much of our existence with unbelievable ease.

Fortunately for Emma, waking up next to Killian isn't one of those things.

And maybe that's the whole point of love.

When you love someone or something, truly care for them and find joy in all that they are, in all that something has to offer, maybe that love is what keeps the novelty from wearing off. Maybe that love is why she gladly starts each morning by waking up at the crack of dawn to shovel horse shit. And maybe that love is why, after over four years of waking up next to Killian, she finds it all just as fulfilling now as it was at the start.

Soft light filters in through the canvas of the tepee, the chilly dampness of a mid-October morning attempting to permeate the barrier as gentle rain falls in peaceful cadence beyond. Stretching, luxuriating in the warmth of combined body heat within the oversized sleeping bag, Emma slowly opens her eyes to the sight of Killian still sleeping soundly beside her.

It's early yet, the sun still lingering just below the horizon, and even when it does make its inevitable ascent, Emma doesn't expect to see it behind the thick cloud cover and drizzling rain that's forecasted throughout the day and well into tomorrow night. They'd known what they were getting into though; camping in the midst of predictably rainy October weather, so they'd packed accordingly, bringing extra clothes and waterproof layers.

Stretching again, unable to ignore the call of nature any longer, Emma quickly and quietly slips from the sleeping bag without waking Killian. He stirs briefly, grumbling in his sleep as she tucks her pyjama pants into her rain boots, but has settled again by the time she's knotted the mess of her hair atop her head and pulled on an extra layer beneath her raincoat.

Chilly air greets her as she steps outside, closing the flap of the tepee behind her. Nala, her trusty golden steed, and Killian's most recent auction purchase, a big black gelding named Roger, nicker at her from within the shelter of the run-in. She calls out to them softly in greeting, and then goes about her business, working to get a fire started beneath the overhanging branches of several large pine trees.

The clearing doesn't look all that much different now than it did nearly four and a half years ago, but new canvases installed back in the spring do mean that the tepees look a little less weatherworn. There's also the additional fire pit that she's using now, built two summers ago beneath the shelter of the trees and reserved specifically for rainy days like this when the risk of wildfire is especially low.

Back home at the ranch, though, things have changed much more drastically. They've added a twelve stall addition onto the barn and a new sand ring to deal with a booming growth in business, on both the ranch and lesson end of things. With her mother and father slowly backing out of the family business to travel and enjoy their retirement, Emma now has two ranch hands that work full-time during the busy summer months, and part-time for the remainder of the year.

Over the last year and a half, Killian and her father have slowly but surely renovated the apartment. What was once the garage below, now houses a larger kitchen and living room as well as an additional bathroom next to the laundry room. That means that the second floor is now home solely to their bedroom and bathroom, plus a spare room that currently serves as an office, a guest room, and only half-jokingly, a bedroom for the animals.

Duke passed back in March, at the end of a mild winter, and it wasn't long before Avast found a lost soul to lead home in the form of a scraggly orange tabby kitten that they ended up naming O'Malley. The lanky ginger makes a terrible barn cat, more interested in sunbathing and chasing shadows than mousing, but Avast loves him, and most nights the two of them curl up on the spare bed to sleep like the spoiled fur-children they admittedly are.

As far as actual children go, Emma hasn't really thought that far into the future yet. Mostly because she's still waiting on a proposal from Killian (even half-considering being the one to make the pitch herself), but also because she's having the time of her life running her parents' business and is still young enough to know that she has plenty of time. She knows that Killian would like to be a father at some point though, and she expects that one day, Avast and O'Malley will either have to give up their room or learn to share it with a child.

The thought makes her smile, but for now, as she sets water over the fire to boil for much needed coffee (a vice she suspects she'll loathe to give up), she's perfectly content with parenthood being little more than a future possibility.

Leaving the pot of water to come to a boil, she sets out some grain for the horses and grabs a bucket to refill their trough with water from the river. The sky is marginally brighter now, still grey, but somewhere behind all those rain clouds she knows that the sun has risen. Grabbing the instant coffee and two mugs from the tepee where they've stored their food, she returns to the fire and hunkers down on a damp log to mix up the beverage.

"Hey, sleepyhead!" she calls out, twisting her upper body in the direction of their tepee after she pours the steaming liquid into her mug. "Coffee's ready!"

Killian grumbles audibly – they really did stay up far too late last night making s'mores and watching the stars– but after a minute, she hears the sounds of stirring in the tepee. Smiling into her drink, she turns her attention toward the forest, watching as a chipmunk scurries up the slope of a fallen tree's trunk.

Emma's contemplating fetching the trail mix and seeing if she can entice the little guy to come closer when Killian finally emerges from the tepee. She doesn't turn to face him as he approaches, too busy allowing the heat from the fire to chase away the damp chill of the day, but when he stands behind her and presses a kiss to the side of her hood-covered head, she leans back against his legs and mumbles a "good morning."

And it's all perfectly lovely until he leans forward and somehow manages to pry the coffee mug out of her hands without spilling it.

"Killian, goddamnit, what the hell?! Get your own." she protests, whining as she tries to reach for the mug that contains her morning salvation.

But he just chuckles and holds it out of her reach as he presses something else into her searching hands. "This isn't funny," she tells him, still so fixated on reacquiring her coffee that it takes her a moment to realize that there's a box in her hand… a square box in dark green velvet. "Oh…"

Coffee totally forgotten, she twists to look up at him. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Just open the bloody box, love," he insists, groaning when she doesn't comply. "I'll return your coffee," he bribes, and Emma finally lifts the lid off the box to peek inside as he steps over the log to sit next to her.

Inside the box, a finely carved path of scrolling leaves adorns a delicate gold band. Amongst the leaves sits a smooth, square cut aquamarine, flanked on either side by two smaller, pale-green pieces of sea glass.

Lifting the ring carefully from the box, she studies it closely, completely and utterly speechless. If she's not mistaken, it contains polished fragments of the last piece of sea glass Killian ever picked up while walking the beach with his mother and brother.

"I thought about getting down on one knee," Killian tells her, "but the ground's rather muddy and I suspect you don't really care much for such ceremony."

An unstoppable smile spreads across her face as she slips the ring onto her finger. It fits perfectly. "Just to be clear; you are asking me to marry you, right?" she asks unnecessarily. "This isn't just a fancy piece of jewellery?"

Taking her hand in his, he meets her eyes. "Is that as yes?"

Glancing at her coffee mug that sits unattended on the makeshift table next to him, she grins. "Give me back my coffee and tell me why you destroyed that piece of sea glass to put it in this ring," she insists. "Then you can have your answer."

Killian picks up her coffee, takes a sip, and then hands it to her. "I wouldn't say destroyed, exactly. More like repurposed. The ring belonged to my mother, and to her mother before that," he tells her. "I only have vague memories of it as a child, but I was always fascinated by the colour of the stones. I'd thought it long lost until that day four years ago when Abi and I found the box of my father's keepsakes."

"You tried to convince her to keep it, didn't you?" Emma guesses.

"Aye," Killian nods, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "It seemed like the logical thing to do until my dear sister in-law pointed out that she already possessed my mother's engagement ring and that I ought to keep this one to give to you some day."

Emma bites back a smile; she's going to have to call Abi and thank her when they get home.

Shifting his grip on her hand, Killian brushes his thumb over the center stone, "This one is still the original, but unfortunately when we found the ring it wasn't in the best shape; the two smaller settings were empty, the stones long lost. I spoke with a jeweller not long after my return and he ensured me that he'd be happy to fill them with whatever gems I selected. I considered diamonds for a brief while, but it seemed a shame to sully something so unique with something so conventional." Finally, he shrugs. "Having the sea glass cut down to fit seemed like a more meaningful option."

Sitting her coffee aside, Emma covers Killian's hand with her own. "It's beautiful."

When she meets his gaze, his eyebrow ticks up in an unspoken question; it's one that she doesn't need to hear to understand, but he asks it anyway. "What do you say, love? Marry me?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" she teases, followed by a more serious and much more meaningful, "Yes." Grinning, she leans forward to kiss him, her coffee forgotten again in favour of the taste of his lips and the warmth of his embrace.

The rain picks up, thunder rumbling in the distance, and it doesn't escape her that many of the big moments in their relationship seem to happen during inclement weather. A gust of wind blows her hood from her head, a pattering of rain shaking from the pine trees, and that's when it hits her; he's been planning to propose to her for four years.

"I can't believe you kept this a secret all these years!" she exclaims, pulling back to look at him, a little bit amazed.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, he lifts her hood back into place. "What other choice did I have, love? You can't honestly tell me that if I'd asked you to marry me that night when I came home from Ireland, you'd have said yes. We both know it was far too soon."

"It was," she admits, attempting to pout. It's no use though. She studies the ring on her finger again and grins even as the rain falling past the trees dampens the flannel of her pyjama pants. Not a damn thing is going to wipe the smile off her face today. "So you've what? Just kept it hidden in your sock drawer for four years?"

"In _a_ sock drawer, yes," he concedes, "but not mine. I didn't want to risk you coming across it accidentally if you decided to steal a pair of those thick wool socks of mine you love so much."

"They just don't make them the same way for women," she defends, and then, looking confused, asks, "Whose sock drawer, then?"

Killian gives her a rather pointed look that all but screams that the answer should be obvious. It takes her a moment to figure it out, but when she does, her jaw drops.

"You kept the ring in my parents' sock drawer!?"

Killian nods, barely suppressing laughter. "Technically your father's."

"So you're telling me that for the last four years my parents have known that at some point you intended to propose to me?"

Killian finally laughs. "To be fair, love, I think they'd have come to that conclusion on their own sooner rather than later, but if you must know, it was only your father I told about the ring. You know how terrible your mother is at keeping secrets; if I'd told her, she would have spent the next couple weeks acting strangely around you before finally ruining what I intended to be a very distant surprise."

Emma shakes her head incredulously. "What did he say when you told him? _When_ did you tell him? He didn't threaten to shoot you, did he?"

"I told him a few weeks after my return, as soon as I got the ring back from the jeweller. Your mother had dragged you out shopping with instructions for Dave and I to have supper ready when you returned. I unfortunately told him while he was seasoning steaks; Duke ended up getting a nice meal out of the one that hit the kitchen floor."

Emma raises her eyebrows expectantly and shoves at his shoulder. "And?"

"He hugged me," Killian tells her, "flat out gave me his blessing and then laughed when I told him that I wasn't actually asking his permission, that the decision as to whether or not you'd eventually be my wife was to be entirely yours, not his."

Leaning forward, Emma presses a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back to study his face. A smile dimples his cheeks, tugging at the fine lines that surround the brilliant blue of his eyes. He looks happy.

"You're a smart man, Killian Jones."

"Oh, darling, believe me, _I know_," he boasts before his voice softens and his hands come up to cup her cheeks, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "After all, I fell in love with you, didn't I?"

* * *

**A/N: I'm just going to apologise in advance for the length of this author's note.**

**I began writing this story on January 28th, 2015 at 3:59:45 PM (yes, that's the exact time-stamp on the original document), and at that time I had no clue that one little idea would take me on such an incredible journey. Over one year and 200,000 words later, I am both thrilled and a little bit sad to finally consider this piece complete.**

**As a horseback rider who is constantly amazed by the beauty and diversity of nature, this fic is incredibly dear to me in so many ways. I've always believed, more often than not, that it's the little moments in life that are to be treasured. Not everything has to be grand or dramatic to be worthwhile. Sometimes the simplest things are the most important, and that's something I hope I've captured while telling this story.**

**I've made so many incredible friends throughout the process of writing this fic and I need to thank all of you for your support and encouragement. You guys know who you are. Specifically though, I must thank Sarah (lifeinahole27) for being with me from almost the get-go; you've been an integral part of writing this fic in so many ways and I'm pretty sure I'm going to spend the rest of my life telling you how amazing you are. I must also thank Emma (nothandlingit) for her beta skills and her ability to let me know in the kindest way possible when I've gone and mucked up the English language.**

**And finally, I need to thank each and every one of my readers. I know I've been absolutely awful at replying to reviews for the last several months, but you guys have to know that I appreciate every single one of them so very much. (I swear I'm actually going to reply to this last batch because you all definitely deserve it!) And thank you for sticking by this story when the wait between chapters has been ridiculously long; you're all incredibly patient and wonderful human beings. So just thank you. So much.**


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